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AUTHOR 


ADAMS,  WILLIAM 


TITLE: 


SACRED  ALLEGORIES 


PL  A  CE: 


NEW-YORK 


DATE: 


1844 


Master  Negative  # 


COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARIES 
PRESERVATION  DEPARTMENT 


3^sJPJJL7.-. 


BIBLIOGRAPHIC  MICROFORM  TARGET 


Original  Material  as  Filmed  -  Existing  Bibliographic  Record 


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I 


SACRED    ALLEGORIES, 


BY 


THE   REV.   W.   ADAMS,   M.   A.|?/>i->4? 


I. 


THE   SHADOW  OF  THE   CROSS 


ii. 


THE    DISTANT   HILLS 


NEW-YORK: 

GENERAL  PROT   EPISCOPAL  S.  S.  UNION 

DANIEL  DANA  Jr.  AGENT 
Dapoaitory  20  John  Street. 

1844. 


UJ 

loo 


VREF A C  E 


Entebkd  according  to  Act  of  Coni^ess,  in  the  vedr  lau,  by 
JoH.v  W    Mitchell,  (as  Treasurkr  of  the  General  Piv^testanf 
lipiscopal  Sunday  School  Union)  in  the  QHice  of  the  Cl.-rk  of  the 
Unite<l    States   District   Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New 
York. 


!  V 

t 
■■■§ 


Thk  design  of  ihe  two  following  allejrories,  is  i„  many  re- 
spects the  same.  In  holh  it  has  been  my  endeavor  to  impress 
upon  the  minds  of  the  children  of  tlie  Church.-l.  The  blessed- 
ness of  the  position  in  which  thoy  are  placed  by  Holy  Baptism  : 
•2.  The  danger  Ihey  incur,  from  their  earliest  years  of  forfeiting 
that  blessedness,  by  giving  way  to  temptation  ;  and,  3.  The 
fearful  extent  to  which  that  danger  may  be  increased  by  unre- 
l>euted  sin. 

But,  two  distinct  views  may  be  taken  of  our  position  in  the 
Church  upon  earth.     We  may  either  regard  it  as  enabling  ua, 
l>y  the  light  that  s-liinr*.  upon  it  from  above,  to  pass  in  safety 
tiirough  the  trials  of  life,  or  a-s  affording  us  a  field  of  contempla- 
tion altogether  removed  from  the  present  world.     The  former 
view  has  been  principally  adojjted  in  The  Shadow  of  The  Cross, 
the  latter  in  The  Distant  Hills;  and  it  is  hoped  that  the   two 
combined,  may,  by  God's  grace,  be  a  means  of  leading  tliote 
who  read  them,  to  endeavor  to  exercise  and  retain  all  their  bap- 
tismal privileges ;  both  by  seeking  the  mark  of  the  cross  .,n  the 
earthly  objects  around  them,  and  also,  by  setting  tlie;r  affection^ 
on  things  above,  and  having  their  conversation  in  IJenven. 


100 


o 


8617S 


PREFACE 

TO    THE    AMERICAN    EDITION 

The  following  beautiful  Allegories  are  reprinted 
without  alteration,  from  the  London  Edition,  and  some- 
thing, it  is  deemed,  has  been  added  to  their  original 
value  in  the  elegant  and  appropriate  ilhist  rat  ions,  the 
designs  lor  which  were  furnished  by  our  distinguished 
native  artist,  John  G.  Chapman 


SH^E)©W     ©IF 


iri^CIB     (SIIl®(SSo 


^i 


(Eljc  Sljaboiii  of  tl)e  €ros0. 


CHAPTER   I. 

Old  friends,  old  scenes,  will  lovelier  be, 
As  more  of  Heaven  in  each  we  see: 
Some  softening  gleam  of  love  and  prayer 
Shall  dawn  on  every  cross  and  care. 


THICK  darkness 
was  spread  over 
the  earth,  and 
as  I  stood  on 
the  t(^p  of  a  lof- 
ty mountain,  the 
only  object  that 
I  could  see  was 


A  1 


S  SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 

the  sun,  which  had  risen  in  the  far  east 
with  a  wonderful  glory.  It  was  as  a 
ball  of  clear  and  living  fire ;  and  yet  so 
soft  and  chastened  was  its  rav,  that, 
while  I  gazed,  my  eye  was  not  dazzled, 
and  I  felt  I  should  like  to  look  upon  it 
for  ever.  Presently,  as  it  shone  upon 
the  mists  which  rested  on  the  eartli, 
they  became  tremulous  with  light,  and 
in  a  moment  they  floated  by,  and  a 
scene  of  life  and  beauty  was  opened  ti 
my  view. 

I  saw  a  spot  of  ground,  so  rich  and 
fertile,  that  it  might  well  be  called  a 
garden;  —  the  sweetest  flowers  were 
growing  wild  in  the  fields,  and  the 
very  pathways  appeared  to  sparkle  with 
rubies  and  emeralds  ;  there  were,  too, 
the   most   luxuriant  orchards,   and    cool 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS.  9 

groves  of  orange  trees  and  myrtles,  and 
the  breeze  of  the  morning  was  play- 
ing among  their  branches.  Now,  as 
I  watched  the  butterflies  that  fluttered 
over  the  flowers,  and  the  lambs  sport- 
ing on  the  smooth  grass,  and  as  I  list- 
ened to  the  song  of  the  nightingales  in 
the  woods,  I  fancied  it  was  some  scene 
of  enchantment  which  I  saw,  it  was  so 
very  full  of  happiness  and  hfe.  Every 
where,  at  the  extremity  of  the  view,  my 
eye  rested  on  a  clear  narrow  stream : 
I  could  trace  neither  mountain  from 
which  it  rose,  nor  ocean  into  which  it 
fell ;  but  it  ghded  round  and  round  in 
an  endless  circular  course,  forming  as  it 
were  a  border  of  silver  to  that  lovely 
garden  on  which  the  sun  was  shining. 
The    morning    light    ever    kept    adding 

AS 


10 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS. 


SHADOW  OF    THE   CROSS. 


11 


|| 


fresh  beauty  to  each  tree  and  flower 
on  which  it  fell,  but  the  brighest  and 
clearest  rays  were  those  which  were  re- 
flected by  this  narrow  stream;  and  at 
this  I  wondered  the  rather,  because,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  ring  of  water,  all 
was  still  wrapt  in  a  thick  and  gloomy 
fog,  and  though  I  gazed  long  and  ear- 
nestly, I  saw  nothing. 

Young  and  lovely  children  were  con- 
tinually crossing  the  narrow  stream ; 
there  was  no  other  way  of  escaping 
from  the  land  of  darkness  to  the  land 
of  light.  Their  garments  became  white 
as  snow  by  their  passage  through  the 
water,  and  sparkled  with  a  dazzlinor 
brightness  as  the  sun  first  shone  upon 
them  ;  I  observed,  too,  that  each  child, 
as  he  entered  the  garden,  held  a  little 


cross  in  his  hand.  Now,  when  I  reflect- 
ed how  many  millions  might  still  be 
wandering  in  the  dark  and  gloomy  re- 
gion beyond,  on  whom  the  glorious  sun 
would  never  shed  its  cheering  warmth, 
I  could  not  help  thinking  how  happy 
tlie  children  were  to  have  found  thus 
early  the  narrow  stream,  and  I  said  in 
my  heart.  Surely  this  lovely  garden  was 
made  for  them,  and  they  will  live  in  it 
for  ever. 

While  I  was  musing  thus,  it  seemed 
that,  in  answer,  a  still  soft  Voice  came 
floating  on  the  breeze,  and  said,  "It  is 
indeed  for  sUch  children  as  these  that 
the  sun  is  shining,  and  for  them  that 
the  mists  have  been  cleared  away,  but 
none  of  the  beautiful  things  in  the  gar- 
den belong  to   them ;    they  are  waiting 


A6 


12 


SHADOW  OF    THE   CROSS. 


here  as  strangers,  till  their  Father  shall 
summon   them   home ;    and   when   they 
go  hence,  they  can  take  nothing  away 
with  them  but  the  little  crosses  in  their 
hands,   and    the  white    garments  which 
they   wear."      '*  Who,   then,    are   these 
children?"    I  asked,  "and  what  is  the 
name  of  the   garden?    and  when   they 
are   taken    from    it,    whither   will    they 
go?"      And  the  Voice  said,  "The  chil- 
dren   are   sons  of  a  mighty  King,   and 
the  garden  is  called  the  Garden  of  tfir 
SfiatKObS  OC  the  (tVOm;  but  no  one  can 
tell   whither   each    child    will   go    when 
he   is  taken   away— it  will   depend   on 
how  far  he  escapes  tlie  dangers  of  the 
garden.      If   they    carelessly    lose    their 
crosses,  or  so  stain  their  beautiful  gar- 
ments, that  they  can  be  made  white  no 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


13 


more,   they   will    be   thought   unworthy 
of  the  presence  of  the  great  King,  and 
will  be  hid  in  an  outer  darkness,  more 
thick  and  terrible  than  that  which  they 
have  just  left.      But  if,   when  they  go 
away,    the    crosses    are    still    in    their 
hands,  and  they  so  far  keep  themselves 
clean  that  the  King  may  recognise  them 
for   His   own   children,   then  will   their 
garments  be  washed  until  they  become 
more  shining  white  than  snow,  and  they 
will  be  taken  to  a  brighter  and  happier 
land,  in  which  they  will  live  with  their 

Father  for  ever." 

But  I  understood  not  what  the  Voice 
meant  by  the  dangers  of  the  garden, 
and  I  wondered,  too,  that  it  should 
speak  to  me  of  a  blighter  and  happier 
land  ;   for  I  thought  within  myself,  that 


14 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


15 


no  land  could  be  more  beautiful  than 
that  on  which  I  gazed,  and  no  sun  more 
glorious  than  that  which  was  shining 
there.  And  the  Voice  again  answered 
my  thoughts,  and  said,  **  It  is  indeed 
true,  that  no  sun  surpasseth  in  glory- 
that  which  is  shining  on  the  land  en- 
circled by  the  silver  stream;  but  were 
it  not  for  the  light  so  resting  upon  it, 
there  is  nothing  to  be  desired  in  the  gar- 
den itself.  At  one  time  every  thing,  not 
only  here,  but  in  the  country  around, 
was  very  good — there  was  no  mist  or 
darkness  then;  but  now  an  enemy  of 
the  King  has  corrupted  all.  The  very 
air  the  children  breathe  is  wont  to  sully 
their  white  garments,  amd  each  delight 
of  the  garden  is  full  of  hidden  danger 
and  deceit.     While  every  thing  appears 


to  the  eye  so  beautiful  and  innocent, 
there  is,  in  truth,  a  poison  lurking  in 
each  fruit  and  flower;  cunning  serpents 
are  hiding  in  the  grass  ;  snares  and 
stumbling-blocks  innumerable  are  placed 
in  the  broad  ways  that  look  so  bright 
and  smooth ;  and  even  in  the  groves 
of  myrtle  roaring  lions  are  wandering 
about,  anxious  to  tear  the  children  that 
come  thither,  and  to  stain  their  white 
garments  with  blood." 

And  when  I  heard  this,  I  wept  bit- 
terly for  the  poor  children,  whom  I  had 
thought  so  happy  before,  and  I  said, 
"  Oh  wretched  children,  thus  to  be 
placed  in  a  garden  so  full  of  dangers, 
and  to  be  tempted  by  fruits  and  flowers 
which  you  dare  not  gather !  Surely  there 
is  not  one  of  you  who  will  not  nt  last 


ipiiii 


16 


SHADOW  OF    THE   CROSS. 


imbibe  some  secret  poison,  or  fall  into 
some  dreadful  snare,  or  be  stung  by  a 
serpent,  or  torn  by  a  lion;  and  so  you 
will    be    prevented    from    entering    that 
better  country   which   your  Father  has 
prepared  for  you."     And  the  Voice  said, 
"  There  is  not  one  of  the  King's  children 
who  may  not  dwell  in  peace  and  happi- 
ness in  the  garden.      Not  only  is  their 
Father  Himself  ever  present  with  them, 
though  they  cannot  see  Him,  but  He  has 
aiven  to  each  a  talisman,  which  will  en- 
able  them  to  Uve  here  in  security,  and 
even  to  enjoy  the  fruits  and  flowers  until 
it  is  His  good  pleasure  to  call  them  to 
Himself.     You  see  that  the  sun  is  shin- 
ing brightly  and  gloriously  in  the  east ; 
you    sec,   too,   that   each   little  one    has 
been    provided  with    a  cross  : — so  long 


SHADOW  OF  THE  CROSS. 


17 


then  as  the  cross  is  so  held  that  the 
rays  of  the  sun  fall  upon  it,  and  cast 
a  shadow  upon  the  surrounding  objects, 
they  will  remain  safe  and  happy  in  their 
garden ;  for  every  fruit  on  which  the 
mark  of  the  cross  is  seen,  may  be  tasted 
of  without  fear,  and  each  path  may  be 
trodden  in  safety  on  which  its  shadow 

rests. 

'*  But  will  not,"  I  asked,  "the  hands 
of  the  children  become  wearied  by  hold- 
ing the  cross,  and  their  eyes  grow  dim 
while  they  watch  the  shadows?"  And 
the  Voice  replied,  "  Their  hands  would 
indeed  soon  become  w-eary,  and  their 
eyes  grow  dim,  if  their  sight  or  their 
strength  were  their  own;  but  these  are 
among  the  number  of  those  precious 
gifts,  that  each  child,  as  he  crossed  the 


18 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


Stream,  received  from  his  Father.  He 
is  ever  at  hand  to  watch  over  them ; 
and,  so  long  as  they  are  really  anxious 
to  be  guided  by  the  cross,  He  will  not 
suffer  their  sight  or  strength  to  fail. 
Nay  more,  He  has  appointed  means, 
by  which  they  themselves  may  seek 
the  renewal  of  these  gifts  day  after 
day,  and  hour  after  hour." 

When  I  heard  this  I  wept  no  more, 
but  I  thought  how  good  and  kind  that 
Father  must  be,  who  took  such  care 
of  each  little  child.  From  this  time  I 
ceased  to  watch  the  trees  and  the  flow- 
ers, or  even  the  bright  ring  of  water 
that  kept  flowing  round  the  garden ; 
for  I  felt  deeply  interested  about  the 
King's  children,  and  I  fancied  it  would 
be  very  beautiful  to  see  them  throwing 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS. 


19 


shadows  from  their  little  crosses,  and 
so  living  unhurt  in  the  garden  of  the 
Shadow  of  the  Cross. 

Now,  I  had  expected  that,  as  there 
wjis  no  difference  in  the  crosses  them- 
selves, so,  too,  would  there  be  none  in 
the  shadows,  and  that  every  child  who 
held  the  cross  would  make  the  same  use 
of  it.  But  I  soon  found  that,  though 
the  crosses  were  indeed  all  alike,  there 
was  very  great  variety  in  the  images 
which  they  cast.  There  were  some 
which  were  very  dark  and  gloomy,  and 
some,  on  the  contrarv,  were  so  fair  and 
soft,  that  thev  were  more  beautiful  to 
look  upon  than  the  surrounding  light ; 
some  fell  flxed  and  steadfast,  some  faint 
and  wavering ;  some  fell  in  clusters,  and 
some    alone.      There  was    also   a  very 


B2 


20 


SHADOW  OF  THE  CROSS. 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS. 


21 


lit 


great   difference   in   the   way   in   which 
the  children   held   their   crosses :    some 
merely  raised  them  on  high,  and  then 
walked    quietly   wherever    the    shadow 
fell  ;    some    kept   twisting   them    back- 
wards and  forwards,  as  though  it  were 
a  work  of  much  difficulty  to  form  the 
shadow ;    and    some,    methought,   even 
when  the  image  was  most  distinct,  were 
unable    to    see    it.      Many,    too,    there 
were  who    hid    their  crosses,   and  only 
used  them  now  and  then,  and  I  knew 
that  those  poor  children  were  in  conti- 
nual danger ;  and  some,  too,  had  thrown 
them  away  altogether,  and  I  feared  that 
they  would  be  lost.     At  length  my  eye 
grew  weary  with  the  confusion  of  the 
scene,  and  I  resolved  to  fix  it  steadily 
on    some   one   child,   and   to   watch   its 


progress  through  the  garden.  One  little 
girl  there  was  amidst  a  group  of  chil- 
dren, with  features  so  pure  and  lovely, 
that,  when  she  had  once  attracted  my 


attention,  I  could  easily  distinguish  her 
from  the  rest.  The  name  of  "  Inno- 
cence "  was  written  on  her  forehead  ; 
and,  from  the  whiteness  of  her  gar- 
ments,  I  thought  that   she   must  have 


22 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS. 


23 


i 


entered  very  lately  into  the  garden.  I 
watched  her  as  she  played  with  lier 
companions  in  the  fields,  and  I  loved 
to  see  her  stop  with  them  to  taste  the 
fruits  or  gather  the  flowers  by  the  way ; 
for  I  observed  that  she  chose  not  the 
greenest  paths,  nor  the  ripest  fruits,  nor 
the  fairest  flowers,  but  only  those  on 
which  the  image  of  her  cross  was  seen. 
Nay,  neither  fruit  nor  flower  seemed  to 
have  any  charms  for  her,  unless  the 
cross  had  thrown  its  shadow  there ;  and 
I  wondered  not  that  it  was  so,  for  the 

* 

more  I  gazed,  the  more  soft  Mud  beau- 
tiful seemed  tlie  outUne  that  it  tniced. 
The  child  was  always  happy;  her  sole 
pleasure  was  in  her  little  cross  and 
the  shadows  it  formed ;  fall  where  they 
would,  she  was  sure  to  follow  them.     I 


saw,  too,  that  she  taught  her  friends  to 
seek  the  shadows  also,  and  when  the 
mark  of  her  cross  and  theirs  might  be 
discerned  on  the  same  object,  then  was 
she  happiest  of  all. 

And   as   I   gazed,   behold  !    a   snow- 
white   dove  was   resting   on   the   cross, 
and   the   form  of  the   little   one   began 
already  to  fade  from  my  view ;  her  fea- 
tures   became    less    bright,    though    not 
less  pure,   than  they   were  before,   and 
I  knew  that  young  Innocence,  with  her 
garments  still  white,  was  passing  away 
from  the  garden.     In  a  little  while  her 
companions  were  weeping,  and  the  child 
was  gone.     I  did  not  weep,  for  I  felt  she 
had  been  taken  away  to  that  brighter 
and  happier  land  of  which  the  Voice  had 
spoken  ;  yet  long  after  we  had  ceased 


24 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


to  see  her,  I  fancied  she  was  still  present 
in  the  garden,  and,  as  she  had  been 
wont  to  do,  was  holding  her  little  cross 
in  the  light  of  the  sun ;  for  its  shadow 
continued  to  play  around  all  the  objects 
she  had  loved ;  I  could  trace  it  not  onlv 
on  the  faces  of  her  friends,  but  on  the 
flowers  she  had  gathered,  and  the  very 
pathways  she  had  trod.  I  observed, 
too,  that  these  images  l)ecame  brighter 
and  more  distinct  from  the  tears  that 
fell  upon  them,  and  images  from  other 
crosses  kept  clustering  around  them,  and 
I  thought,  if  the  beautiful  child  were 
indeed  still  looking  on  the  garden,  how 
happy  she  must  be  that  the  crosses  of 
those  who  wept  for  her.  were  thus  blend- 
ed with  her  own. 


CHAPTER  II. 

When  with  dear  friends  sweet  talk  I  hold. 
And  all  the  flowers  of  life  unfold  . 
Let  not  my  heart  within  me  burn. 
Except  in  all  I  Thek  discern 

HEN    Innocence 
had   thus   early 
been   called    a- 
way    from    the 
garden,     I     se- 
lected one  of  the 
little    group    of 
mourners,    whom 
I  next  resolved  to  watch.      He  was  a 
very  beautiful  boy,  and  had  been  one 
of   the    favourite   friends  of   Innocence, 


-.  '.  A'lD 


26 


SHADOW  OF  THE  CROSS. 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


27 


and  when  I  first  observed  him,  was  cry- 
ing bitterly  for  his  loss.  But  he  soon 
dried  his  tears,  and  as  I  looked  on  his 
clear  and  open  forehead,  the  name  of 
"  Mirth"  was  written  there.  Long  after 
he  had  ceased  weeping,  I  could  see  that 
he  had  not  forgotten  his  companion,  for 
he  continued  to  play  in  the  same  field  in 
which  Innocence  had  left  him,  and  af- 
fection for  his  former  playmate  ever  led 
him  to  choose  those  flowers  on  which 
the  shadow  of  her  cross  was  lingering 

still. 

While  he  remained  there,  I  knew 
that  the  boy  was  safe  from  danger ;  but 
afterwards,  when  he  began  to  wander 
to  other  parts  of  the  garden,  I  grew 
alarmed  lest  some  evil  might  befal  him ; 
for,  though   he  grasped   his   own  cross 


firmly  in  his  hand,  so  quick  and  Hvely 
was   his   step,  that   I  feared   he  might 
soon   be   tempted   to   move   beyond   its 
shadow.     However,  I  was  beginning  to 
hope  there  was  no  good  reason  for  my 
alarm;   for,   though   he   gathered   more 
abundantly    than    Innocence    had    done 
of  the  flowers  that  were  by  the  way,  I 
observed   that  he   never   touched   them 
until  the  shadow  of  his  cross  had  rested 
upon  them  ;  and  if  there  were  any  on 
which  it  did  not  fall,  he  passed  them 
by.     But  before  long  it  seemed  that  his 
eye  was  attracted  by  a  beautiful  bed  of 
roses  and  violets  that  grew  on  a  little 
hill,  at  the  foot  of  which  he  was  walk- 
ing :    I   saw   him   hold   his  cross  for  a 
moment  between  them  and  the  sun,  and 
he  quite  laughed  for  joy  as  he  caught  a 


■=^ 


f 


28 


SHADOW  OF  THE   CROSS. 


SHADOW  OF  THE  CROSS. 


29 


glimpse  of  its  shadow  there ;  he  bound- 
ed   lightly    forward,    and,    intending    to 
gather  a  lovely  nosegay,  began  in  haste 
to  scramble  up  the  hill.     Now,  this  I 
perceived  with  sorrow,  for  I  was  afraid 
the  little  fellow  had  not  observed  that 
there  were  many  roses  there  on  which 
no  part  of  the  shadow  fell ;  and  I  feared 
lest  in  his  eagerness  he  should  seize  one 
of  them,  and,  by  doing  so,  I  knew  not 
what  risk  he  might  incur.     There  was 
good    cause    for    my  fear.      The  child, 
breathless  with  liis  scramble  up  the  hill, 
stretched  out  his  hand  and  plucked  the 
finest  rose  that  he  saw;  it  was  one  of 
those  on  which   no  shadow  had   fallen, 
and  he  had  scarce  held  it  a  moment, 
when  a  wasp,  that  had  concealed  itself 
among  the  leaves,  crawled  out  and  stung 


him  on  the  finger :  the  poor  boy  scream- 
ed with  pain,  for  the  sting  of  the  wasp 
was  unlike  any  thing  he  had  felt  before. 
He   hastily   dashed    the  flower  on   the 
ground  ;  but  one  leaf,  I  observed,  was 
blown  back   by   the   wind,    and   rested 
on  his  clothes :    Mirth  saw  it  also,  and 
brushed    it    away;    but,   when    it   was 
gone,  there  was  a  stain  on  those  gar- 
ments  which  had  been  so  white  before. 
It  was  but  a  very  little  spot,  and,   as 
the  tears  trickled  down  upon  it,  grew 
so   faint,   that  it  could  hardly  be   dis- 
cerned  at   ali;    but   still  the  spot  was 
there.      The  smart,   however,   that  the 
sting   caused  was   of  no  long   continu- 
ance, and   in  a  short  time  little  Mirth 
was  going  merrily  on  his  way,  as  though 
no  accident  had  happened. 


ms(. 


30 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


31 


I 


By  and  by,  as  he  was  w^alking  by  a 
bright  path  across  a  field,  one  of  his 
former  companions  perceived  him,  and 
ran  over  the  green  to  meet  him :  I  could 
see  that  he  shook  Mirth  warmly  by  the 
hand,  and  persuaded  him  that  for  a  lit- 
tle while  they  should  amuse  themselves 
together.  But  I  was  grieved  that  the 
friend  of  Innocence  should  join  company 
with  the  child,  for  there  was  many  a  soil 
on  his  white  garments,  and  there  was 
no  cross  in  his  hand,  and  the  name  of 
'*  Wayward "  was  written  on  his  brow. 
I  thought,  t(X),  that  Mirth  looked  shock- 
ed when  first  he  met  him,  and  I  heard 
him  ask  after  his  cross ;  but  Wayward 
laughed,  and  told  him  it  was  so  trou- 
blesome to  keep  it  always  in  his  hand, 
that   he   now  carried   it   in  his  clothes. 


He  said,  however,  that  he  never  forgot 
to  take  it  out  when  there  were  any  dif- 
ficulties in  the  way  ;  but  in  the  green 
fields  and  smooth  paths  he  needed  not 

its  shadow. 

Now,    methought,    the    stains   on    his 
clothes  proved  that,  without  the  cross, 
neither    the    greenest    fields    nor    the 
smoothest  paths  were  safe ;  but  it  would 
seem  that  Mirth  did  not  observe  them, 
for   his   mind   appeared   at  ease,  when 
he    found    Wayward    had    not    thrown 
away  the  cross ;  and  the  two  boys  walk- 
ed on  together.     Little  Mirth  still,  how- 
ever, kept  his  own  cross  in  his  hand, 
and  its  shadow  ever  fell  clear  and  dis- 
tinct on  the  bright  path  he  trod ;  while 
Wayward  walked  heedlessly  along  the 
soft  turf  by  his  side,  and  laughed  at  the 


4 


32 


SHADOW  OF  THE  CROSS. 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


33 


caution  of  his  companion.     But  I  soon 
observed  that  Mirth  was  growing  weary 
of  the  narrow  way,  and  tired  of  placing 
his  footsteps  exactly  in  the  print  of  the 
cross,  and   that  by  little  and   little  he 
deviated  from  it ;  he  ventured  first  close 
by  the  side  of  the  grass,  and  then  just 
to  tread  on  its  edge,  and  so  he  walked 
nearer   to    his    companion.      Now   they 
had   not   gone   far,  when,  at   the  point 
where  the  turf  looked  most  soft  and  in- 
viting,  they  fell   into   swampy  ground, 
and  in  an  instant  the  green  miry  water 
rose  above   their  ankles.      Poor   Mirth, 
directly  he   felt   it,   leaped   back   upon 
the  road,  for  it  was  at  no  great  distance ; 
but  before  he  could   reach  it  his   gar- 
ments were  already  splashed,  and  there 
was  a  sad   shade  of  green  all   around 


their  border.     Wayward  fell  deeper  into 
the  marsh  than  Mirth,  because  he  had 
been   walking    farther    from    the    path; 
but,  when  he  had  forced  his  way  out, 
he   treated   his   misfortune   Hghtly,    and 
scarce  stopped  a  moment  to  wipe  the 
dirt  from  his  clothes ;  nor  did  I  wonder 
at  this,  for  they  were  so  stained  before, 
that  the  splashes  of  the  green  mud  could 
hardly  be  seen  on  them  at  all ;   but  it 
made  me  feel  the  more  pity  for  Mirth, 
as  he  looked  sadly  at  his  own  stains; 
and   I   thought  how  foolish    a  thing   it 
was,  for  a  child,  still  clad  in  raiment  of 
white,  to  walk  with  one  whose  garments 

were  so  defiled. 

It  seemed,  however,  that  Mirth 
thought  not  of  that,  for  he  still  al- 
lowed  Wayward    to    accompany   him; 


34 


SHADOW  OF    THE   CROSS. 


nav,  in  a  little  while  I  almost  fancied 
he  befjan  to  look  discontented  at  the 
whiteness  of  his  clothes,  for  the  fear 
of  spoiling  them  often  forced  him  to 
pick  his  way  over  stones  with  care, 
while  his  companion  could  walk  heed- 
lessly through  the  mud.  Alas !  if  it 
were  so,  the  silly  child  had  not  much 
longer  such  cause  for  discontent ;  for 
a  beautiful  butterfly  in  a  neighbouring 
field  caught  the  attention  of  Wayward, 
and  in  a  moment  away  he  ran,  calling 
to  his  companion  to  follow ;  and  I  saw 
that,  for  the  first  time,  Mirth  joined 
in  the  pursuit  without  consulting  his 
cross.  Now,  I  have  no  doubt  the  boys 
thought  they  would  have  to  go  but  a 
very  little  way  before  they  gained  pos- 
session of  their  prize, — for  I  too  fancied 


SHADOW  OF    THE   CROSS. 


35 


so  at  first ;  but,  as  they  came  near,  the 
butterfly  opened  its  bright  ^vings  to  the 
sun,  and  fluttered  away,  settling  first  on 
one  flower,  then  on  another,  and  ever, 


S  hOWI 


as  the  children  stretched  out  their  hands 
to  take  it,  just  eluded  their  grasp.  A 
long  and  wearisome  chase  it  led  them 
in  the  end.  At  first  they  went  merrily 
through    the    green    fields  ;    but    after- 


G« 


36 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS. 


wards,  as  they  grew  more  eager  in  the 
pursuit,  and  the  bright  butterfly  tempted 
them  on,  they  climbed  steep  hills,  and 
scrambled  down  into  the  valleys  be- 
neath ;  they  ran  through  brooks,  leaped 
over  ditches,  and  broke  through  hedges 
in  their  way,  and  yet  the  provoking 
insect  was  no  nearer  than* before.  And 
I  said,  "  Oh  that  Mirth  had  tried  whe- 
ther the  shadow  of  his  cross  would  rest 
on  its  glittering  wings,  before  he  began 
thus  hastily  to  follow  it  I"  for  many  a 
splash  of  mud  had  fallen  upon  him  in 
the  eagerness  of  the  pursuit,  and  his 
little  hands  were  so  scratched  with 
thorns,  that  in  some  parts  they  had 
sprinkled  his  clothes  with  blood. 

At   length    they    came    to    a    smooth 
grassy   plain,   at    the   border  of  which 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


37 


was  a  lovely  grove   of  myrtles.      The 
butterfly  flew  high   in  the  air   towards 
the  distant  trees,  for  there  was  neither 
plant    nor    flower    in    the    plain    itself. 
Now,   I   observed   that   Mirth   had  out- 
stripped Wayward   in  the  chase  ;    and 
as  he  ran  heedlessly  on,  gazing  upwards 
towards   the    butterfly,   his   foot    struck 
against   a  stone  concealed    in   the  long 
grass,   and  he  was  thrown  violently  to 
the  ground.    The  careless  child  was  well 
nigh  stunned  by  the  fall ;  and  when  he 
recovered  his  feet,  he  trembled  exceed- 
ingly, and  the  mark  of  the  green  grass 
was   deeply  imprinted   on   his   clothes; 
yet  I  was  glad  that  the  accident  made 
him  grasp  his  little  cross,  which  before 
he   had  well   nigh   forgotten,   the  more 
firmly  in  his  hand.      Just  as  his  com- 


38 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


SHADOW  OF    THE   CROSS. 


39 


panion  joined  him,  he  held  it  thought- 
fully towards  the  sun ;  and  when  he 
saw  that  its  image  was  not  reflected 
on  the  wood,  but  on  a  hard  dull  path, 
leading  in  an  opposite  direction,  he  at 
once  turned  aside  from  the  beautiful 
butterfly  which  he  had  so  long  been 
following. 

Wayward,  too,  seemed  a  little  fright- 
ened by  his  companion's  fall,  for  he  also 
took  out  his  cross  ;  and  when  its  dim 
shadow  fell  on  the  same  hard,  dull  path, 
he  too  relinquished  the  pursuit  of  the 
butterfly,  and  accompanied  Mirth.  So 
the  two  boys  walked  on,  sadly  and 
silently,  together ;  but  Mirth  limped  a 
little  as  he  went,  from  the  pain  of  his 
fall.  Very  glad  I  was  that  they  had 
not  ventured   to   enter   the  wood ;    for. 


though  they  saw  them  not,  I  could  see 
the  bright  eyes  of  a  serpent  gleaming 
from  beneath  the  myrtle  on  which  the 
butterfly  was  resting.  He  seemed  to  be 
waiting  anxiously  for  the  approach  of 
the  children,  and  1  doubt  not  there  was 
poison  in  his  fang. 

Now,  I  have  said  that  the  road  by 
which  Mirth  and  Wayward  left  the 
grove  of  myrtles  was  dull  and  hard  ; 
for  I  had  by  this  time  discovered  that, 
soft  and  beautiful  as  every  thing  looked 
in  the  distance,  there  were  not  only 
some  paths  in  the  garden  deceitful  and 
dangerous,  but  others  hard  and  dull.  It 
led  them  by  many  a  withered  leaf  and 
faded  flower ;  and  each  leaf  and  flower 
was  watered  by  the  tears  of  Mirth,  for 
his    eyes    were    ever    fixed    downward 


40 


SHADOW  OF    THE   CROSS. 


upon  the  ground:   he  was  as  one  who 
was  unconscious  whither  he  was  walk- 
ing,  and   whose   only   care   was    so    to 
measure    each   step   that    it    might    IliU 
exactly    in     the     shadow    before     him. 
Wayward,  too,  for  a  little  while,  look- 
ed  downward   also,    and    step   by  step 
trod   in   the  same   path  with   his   com- 
panion:    but,  when   they  had   gone  on 
for  some  time  in  safety,  from  the  force 
of  habit  he  left  off  carrying  his  cross 
in  his  hand,  and  concealed  it  as  he  had 
done  before;    and   then   he  soon   grew 
weary  of  the  dullness  of  the  road,  and 
longed    to   turn    aside   to    some   of   the 
pleasant  paths  on  the  right  hand  or  on 
the  left.     He  appeared  to  me,  however, 
to  be  half  afraid  of  wandering   alone ; 
for  I  heard  him  coaxing  Mirth  to  leave 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS. 


41 


ofF  watching  those  gloomy  images,  and 
to  come  and  join  with  him  in  some 
merry  game,  saying  that,  by  doing  so, 
he  would  the  sooner  forget  the  effects 
of  his  fall.  But  Mirth  still  walked  on 
in  the  same  disconsolate  way,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground.  His  heart 
was  then  indeed  too  full  of  heaviness 
to  suffer  him  to  think  of  play  at  all ; 
yet,  perhaps,  he  might  not  have  been 
able  to  resist  very  long  the  entreaties 
of  Wayward,  had  it  not  so  happened 
that  the  boys  did  not  much  further 
continue  their  walk  together. 

A  sudden  turn  in  the  dull  road 
brought  them  to  one  of  those  fields 
over  which  in  happier  times  Mirth  had 
often  loved  to  ramble  with  Innocence ; 
and  the  shadow  of  his  cross  rested  full 


42 


SHADOW  OF  THE  CROSS. 


on  a  faded  lily,  which  had  been  sown 
and  watered  by  the  hands  of  his  for- 
mer friend.     Here  the  poor  little  fellow 
paused,  and  sobbed  as  though  his  very 
heart  would  break.     I  too  felt  very  sor- 
rowful ;   for  my  mind  went  back  to  the 
lovely  scene  when  the  two  children  had 
been    playing    together   in    the    garden, 
and   Mirth   had   been   taught   by   Inno- 
cence to  find  pleasure  in  the  cross.     I 
remembered  how  happy  they  had  both 
looked  in  their  shining  raiment  of  white, 
and   how  beautiful  were  the  first  holy 
images  which  fell  on  the  objects  around 
them;  and,  above  all,  I  recollected  the 
hour    when    the    dove    had    settled    so 
peacefully  on  the  cross  of  her  who  was 
taken,  while  she  was  fading  from   my 
view:    and  then,  as  I  gazed  upon  the 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS. 


43 


one  who  had  been  left,  and  saw  how 
his  garments  since  then  had  been  stain- 
ed by  many  a  dark  and  filthy  spot,  the 
bitter  thought  came  upon  me,  whether, 
if  his  friend  still  looked  upon  the  gar- 
den, she  would  recognise  him  now,  and 
whether,  if  Mirth  were  called  away, 
he  would  be  received  in  that  better 
country  to  which  Innocence  was  gone. 
Such  thoughts,  also,  seemed  to  force 
themselves  on  the  mind  of  Mirth  ;  for 
he  knelt  down  by  the  lily  to  which  the 
shadow  had  led  him,  and,  as  the  tears 
chased  each  other  down  his  cheeks,  and 
fell  on  the  stains,  I  could  hear  him 
murmur,  "  Oh,  purge  me  with  hyssop, 
and  I  shall  be  clean;  wash  me,  and 
I  shall  be  whiter  than  snow !"  Then 
I  knew  he  was   speaking  to   the  kind 


i 


44 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS. 


Father,  who  was  ever  present  among 
His  children  in  the  garden  ;  and  I  re- 
membered how  the  Voice  had  told  me 
that  there  were  means  by  which  the 
sight  and  strength  of  the  children  might 
be  renewed.  Presently  I  saw  him  bend 
low  and  gaze  earnestly  on  the  faded 
flower ;  and  while  the  big  tear  fell  upon 
it,  methought  that  his  eye  became  less 
dim,  and  there  was  a  gleam  of  hope 
and  gladness  on  his  face,  as  though  he 
could  again  trace  upon  the  leaves  the 
light  and  lovely  outline  of  the  cross  of 
Innocence.  Then  I  also,  in  the  midst 
of  my  sorrow,  was  glad ;  and  I  felt  that 
Mirth  was  really  happier  as  be  wept 
over  the  lily  of  his  friend,  than  he  had 
been  while,  in  the  thoughtlessness  of 
his  heart,  he  was  chasing  the  painted 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


45 


r 


butterfly  on  the  green.  Moreover,  as 
I  watched  him,  I  saw  him  kiss  his  little 
cross  and  press  it  to  his  heart ;  and  I 
wondered  not  that  he  did  so,  for  I  knew 
it  was  that  little  cross,  and  that  alone, 
which  had  freed  him  from  all  his  perils ; 
for,  without  it,  he  must  have  been  bitten 
by  the  serpent  in  the  myrtle  grove ;  and 
had  he  not  trod  in  its  shadow  along 
the  hard  dull  road,  he  would  not  have 
been  guided  to  the  flower  of  Innocence 
at  last. 


Hi 


CHAPTER  III. 

But  if,  indeed,  with  reckless  faith 
We  trust  the  flattering  voice, 
Which  whispers,  "Take  thy  fill  ere  death, 
Indulge  thee  and  rejoice" 

Too  sxixely,  every  setting  day. 
Some  lost  dehght  we  mourn ; 

The  flowers  all  die  along  our  way. 
Till  we.  too.  die  forlorn. 


HE  tears  were 
fast  rising  in 
my  eyes  as  I 
turned  them  a- 
way  from  the 
kneeh'ng  child, 
so  affecting  was 
the   scene ;   but 


r„.  a,.: 


"-k 


I 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS. 


47 


■for  the  present  I  watched  him  no  more, 
for  about  him  my  mind  was  now  at 
rest  ;  but  I  felt  fearfully  anxious  to 
trace  the  course  of  his  companion  who 
neglected  the  cross.  Wayw^^ard  had  not 
seen  the  shadow  resting  on  the  flower, 
but  had  walked  carelessly  through  the 
field  ;  otherwise  his  thoughts  also  might 
have  gone  back  to  the  time  when  he 
played  with  Innocence,  and  he  would 
perhaps  have  wept  together  with  his 
companion.  He  had  advanced  some 
distance  before  he  observed  that  Mirth 
had  ceased  to  accompany  him  ;  but  as 
soon  as  he  perceived  it  he  was  alarm- 
ed to  find  himself  alone  ;  for,  though 
he  cared  but  little  for  the  cross  him- 
self, he  had  felt  some  sort  of  safety 
from  being  near  to  one  who  trod  within 


48 


SHADOW  OF  THE  CROSS. 


its  shadow.     He  first  looked  anxiously 
around,  and  then  in  a  hurried  manner 
began  to  retrace  his  steps.     I  had  no 
doubt   that  his  intention  was  to  rejoin 
his  companion;   but,   short  as  was  the 
distance  back,  in  his  haste  he  managed 
to  lose  the  way,  and   got   into  a  path 
that  led   him  farther  and  farther  from 
the  field  in  which  Mirth  was  kneehng. 
I    could    plainly   hear  his   companion's 
voice  calUng  to   him   to   return,  and   I 
saw  that  Wayward   heard   it   also,   for 
he  continually  paused  and  Ustened,  as 
though   he  wished  to  ascertain  the  di- 
rection of  the  distant  sound.     And  then 
the  unhappy  boy  would  shout  loudly  in 
reply,  and  turning  to  the  right  hand  or 
the  left,  begin  to  hurry  along  some  new 
track;    but   each   time   that   he  started 


SHADOW  OF  THE  CROSS. 


49 


i       J 


again,  he  made  some  fresh  error  in  the 
way,  and  as  I  watched  him  I  knew 
that  it  would  be  so,  for  his  cross  was 
not  in  his  hand. 

In  a  little  time  he  had  got  quite  to  a 
different  part  of  the  garden  from  that  in 
which  he  had  parted  with  Mirth.  He 
saw  there  a  pretty  group  of  children, 
whom  he  was  very  anxious  to  join  ;  but 
they  were  frightened  when  they  ob- 
serv^ed  that  he  had  no  cross,  and  one 
of  them  cried  out  that  his  dirty  hands 
would  soil  the  whiteness  of  their  gar- 
ments ;  so  they  refused  to  let  him  take 
part  in  their  play.  He  tried  one  or  two 
other  groups,  but  some  hurried  away  as 
he  approached,  and  others  shrunk  back 
from  his  touch,  until  at  last  he  found  a 
party  of  boys  who  had  no  crosses,  and 


50 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS. 


whose    clothes   were    more    filthy    than 
his   own.      These   boys  welcomed    him 
gladly,  and  he  began  to  leap  and   run 
with  them.      They  all  laughed  loudly, 
and  tried  to  be  merry;  but  no  shadow 
fell  on  the  ground  which  they  trod,  and 
they  soon  grew  weary  of  laughter  itself. 
So  their  game  terminated  in  a  quarrel, 
and  that  brought  on  blows,  which  added 
fresh  stains  to  the  clothes  of  these  un- 
happy children.     Even  Wayward  grew 
shocked    at    the    scene   which    he    now 
witnessed,    and,    hastening    away    from 
his  companions,  again  began  to  ramble 
through  the  garden  alone. 

He  now  seemed  to  be  wandering  to 
and  fro  without  any  object,  as  a  child 
that  was  blind  ;  but  I  saw  that  he 
plenteously  gathered  of  the  flowers,  and 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS. 


51 


ate  of  the   fruits   that  he   found ;    and 
as  he  did  so  his  garments  became  more 
and    more    discoloured,    and    his   coun- 
tenance pale  and  sickly,  and  his  manner 
full  of  restlessness  and  languor,  so  that 
I  was  very  greatly  alarmed,  for  I  could 
not   but   remember  how  the  Voice  had 
said  that  there  was  poison  in  the  garden. 
I  saw,  too,  that  Wayward  had  become 
not  only  sickly  but  wretched  also;   he 
no  longer  could  derive  enjoyment  from 
any  thing  he  tasted  or  touched,  but  was 
suspicious  of  them    all.      Sometimes   I 
thouirht  he  looked  anxiously  about  him 
for  the  shadow  of  the  cross  ;   and  yet, 
whether  it  were  from  indolence,  or  from 
the  force  of  habit,  or  from  some  fatal 
delusion,   I   cannot    tell,   but   the   cross 
itself  he  did  not  hold. 


D2 


52 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


At  length  in  his  wanderings  he  came 
to   a  long  high   wall,   on   the   Western 
side  of  which  there  was  a  tree  loaded 
with  nectarines,  riper  and  more  beauti- 
ful than  any  he  had  before  seen.      Now, 
at  first  he   seemed  as  though  he  were 
going  to  turn  away,  for,  though  he  held 
not  his  cross,  he  knew  at  once  that  the 
bright   sun    shining    in   the   East   could 
shed  no  image  there  ;    and  yet  he  lin- 
gered and  looked  wistfully  at  the  truit ; 
and  as  he  looked  he  perceived  one  ga- 
thering from  the  tree,  whose  garments 
were  yet  white,  and   whose   cross  was 
in  her  hand.     I  also  looked  at  her  that 
gathered    the    fruit,    and    I   could    read 
the    name    of    "  Selfdeceit"    imprinted 
upon  her  brow  ;   and  I  saw  there  was 
something    foul    and    horrible    even    in 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


53 


the  very  whiteness  of  her  garments,  and 
that  wan  and  ghastly  were  the  images 
that  fell  from  her  cross.  Now,  I  be- 
gan to  wonder  how  those  images  were 
formed,  and  behold  !  there  gleamed  in 
the  air  behind  her  a  dark  blue  flame  ; 
then  I  discovered  that  there  were  false 
meteor  lights  in  the  garden  of  the  Sha- 
dow of  the  Cross :  doubtless  they  were 
placed  there  by  the  enemy  of  the  King, 
in  order  to  tempt  the  children  to  taste 
the  poisonous  fruits ;  but  I  shuddered 
exceedingly  when  I  saw  that  the  cross 
might  thus  be  converted  into  an  instru- 
ment of  destruction :  vet  so  unhke  were 
the  false  images  to  those  formed  by  the 
clear  and  brilliant  sun  in  the  East,  that 
they  could  deceive  none  but  the  eye 
that   had   been   long  a  stranger   to  the 


54 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


real    image,    and    the    heart    that    was 
anxious    to   believe   them    true.      Even 
Wayward,  as  he  drew  nigh,  trembled, 
and  felt  there  was  something  unnatural 
in  the  shadows  that  fell  on  the  Western 
wall ;   but  when  Selfdeceit  offered  him 
one  of  the  ripest  nectarines,  and  point- 
ed triumphantly  to  the  pale  outline  that 
might  be  traced  upon  it,  he  was  tempt- 
ed, and  he  took  it  and  did  eat.     While 
he  was  eating,  some  of  the  juice  oozed 
out  from  the  fruit  (for  it  was  very  ripe) 
and   fell   upon   his   clothes:    it   marked 
them  with  a  stain  which,  thougli  they 
were    already    much    discoloured,    was 
of   a  deeper  crimson   than   any  I   had 
seen  before.    Wayward  threw  down  the 
remainder   of   the   nectarine,    and    was 
hastening   away,   but    Selfdeceit   called 


SHADOW  OF    THE  CROSS. 


55 


4. 


to  him  to  stop,  and  said  that  she  could 
very  easily  remove  the  stain.  So  Way- 
ward stopped,  and  Selfdeceit  took  a  sub- 
stance which  seemed  to  me  like  chalk, 
and  rubbed  it  over  the  spot  on  which 
the  juice  had  fallen,  and  not  that  spot 
only,  but  over  the  whole  of  the  gar- 
ments of  her  companion,  until  she  had 
produced  upon  them  the  same  foul  and 
horrible  whiteness  that  1  had  remarked 
upon  her  own.  When  it  was  done,  I 
thought  that  Wayward  tried  to  smile, 
as  though  he  again  were  clean ;  but  the 
smile  passed  away  in  a  sigh,  for  in  his 
inmost  heart  he  knew  that  the  stains 
were  hidden  but  not  removed,  and  that 
the  all-seeing  eye  of  his  Father  could 
perceive  them  still. 

Yet   he   did    not   fly   from   Selfdeceit 


56 


SHADOW  OF    THE   CROSS. 


as    he    ought    to    have    done,    but    still 
continued   in   her  company,    eating   the 
fruits   on   which   the  •false   images   fell, 
and    allowing   the  treacherous  chalk   to 
be  rubbed  upon  his  clothes.     The  chil- 
dren did  not  walk  very  long  together; 
but  during  that  time  ihe  appearance  of 
Wayward  became  so  akered,  that  be- 
fore they  parted  I  doubt  whether  Mirth 
could  have  recognised  him  again  :    the 
form  emaciated  by  disease,  the  feverish 
and  uncertain  step,  the  hectic  flush  on 
his  sallow  cheek,  and   the  wildness  in 
his  bloodshot  eye,  had  left  but  little  of 
the  gay,  though  careless,  child  who  had 
run  so  hi^htlv  after  the  butterfly  on  the 
green.     Yet,  great  as  was  the  change  in 
his  appearance  owing  to  the  poison  on 
which    he   hved,   the   change   that    had 


SHADOW  OF    THE   CROSS. 


57 


taken  place  in  his  dress  was  greater 
still ;  for  his  garments  were  more  dis- 
guised by  the  strange  whiteness  caused 
by  the  chalk,  than  they  could  have  be^i 
bv  the  darkest  stain.  He  was,  how- 
ever,  fast  becoming  accustomed  to  its 
use,  for  it  was  astonishing  how  many 
accidents  befell  Wayward  and  Selfde- 
ceit  as  they  moved  along; — sometimes 
they  slipped,  and  rolled  into  the  mire  ; 
sometimes  they  were  tripped  up,  and  fell 
on  the  swampy  grass  ;  sometimes  they 
stained  themselves  with  fruit ;  some- 
times noxious  reptik^s  would  crawl  over 
their  clothes ;  and  sometimes  foul  spots, 
as  in  a  leprosy,  would  suddenly  break 
out  upon  them,  without  any  cause  which 
they  could  discern  :  and  on  each  of 
these   occasions,   Selfdeceit  would   take 


58 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS. 


III! 


'i 


! 


out  her  chalk,  and  apply  it  to  her  com- 
pauion's  garments  and  her  own. 

In  this  wretched  way  they  kept  walk- 
ing  side   by   side,    until   they   came   to 
the  borders  of  a  great  wood,  and  there 
Selfdeceit  bade  her  companion  go  first, 
saying    that    she    would    follow;     but 
Wayward   drew  back,   and   refused   to 
advance  farther  before  he  had  first  con- 
sulted his  cross.      I  do  not  know  why 
at    that    particular    moment    he    should 
have  paused  ;  it  may  be  that  it  merely 
proceeded  from  his  usual  dislike  to  go 
first ;   or  it  may  be  he  was  frightened 
by  a  deep  and  angry  sound,  even  as  the 
roaring  of  a  Hon,  which  issued  from  the 
wood,  and  yet  his  ears  had  now  grown 
so  dull,  that   I   cannot  tell  whether  he 
heard    it  at  all  ;    and    I   think    it    most 


SHADOW  OF    THE   CROSS. 


59 


likely  that  he  only  delayed,  because  the 
scene  brought  back  to  his  memory  the 
hour  in  which  he  had  stood  with  Mirth, 
at  the  entrance  of  the  myrtle-grove, 
when  the  holy  image  had  warned  them 
both  to  turn  aside.  But  be  the  cause 
what  it  may,  he  stood  still,  and  drew 
his  long-neglected  cross  from  his  bosom. 
It  was,  indeed,  a  scene  that  caused 
my  heart  to  beat  high  with  interest. 
Wayward  was  standing  a  little  in  ad- 
vance of  Selfdeceit,  and  one  step  more 
would  have  brought  him  w^ithin  the  bor- 
ders of  the  wood ;  and,  as  he  raised  his 
cross  with  a  trembling  hand,  I  could 
see  a  smile  of  mockery  pass  over  the 
countenance  of  his  companion.  In  a 
moment  the  meteor  lights  were  flicker- 
ing in  the  air  around  them,  and  a  crowd 


I 


60 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS. 


of  confused  and  ghastly  shadows  fell  at 
the  feet  of  the  bewildered  boy.     He  had 
suffered  his  eyes  to  become  so  very  dim, 
that  it  was  in  vain  he  now  endeavoured 
to  distinguish  the  true  image  from  the 
false:    but   I   observed   that   from   that 
very  uncertainty   he   hesitated   whether 
to  advance;    and  I   believe  at  last   he 
would  have  turned  aside,  had  not  Selt- 
deceit   with    her   own    hand    lighted    a 
torch    behind    him,    which    threw    one 
long   deep    shadow  in   the  direction  of 
the   forest.      Then  Wayward    ventured 
to   move   forward;    but   scarce   had   he 
made  the  first  step,  when  there  was  a 
laugh  as  of  fiends  in  the  air,  and  be- 
hold !     the    earth    opened    beneath    the 
feet    of   Selfdeceit,    and    she    and    lier 
aaming  torch  and  her  whited  garments 


SHADOW  OF    THE   CROSS. 


61 


' 


were  swallowed  up,  and  1  saw  them  no 
more.  Together  with  th(^  light  which 
had  caused  it,  the  long  deep  shadow 
also  passed  away,  and  Wayward  once 


more  looked  round  him  in  doubt  ;  he 
then  saw  the  fate  of  his  companion,  and 
uttered  a  shrill  and  piercing  cry,  and, 
in  his  alarm  dropping  the  cross  out 
of  his    hand,    he    ran    hastily   from    the 


62 


SHADOW  OF    THE    CROSS. 


wood.  But  now,  alas  !  it  was  too  late 
for  tiight ;  the  lion,  that  had  lain  in 
wail  tor  him  there,  had  already  made 
his  fatal  spring  :  he  seized  on  his  prey, 
and  pulled  him  down  upon  the  ground, 
and  in  a  moment  was  griping  with  his 
savage  teeth,  and  tearing  to  pieces  with 
his  claws,  the  companion  of  Selfdeceit. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


Refresh  us,  LoaD,  to  hold  it  fast ; 
And  -wuen  Thy  veil  is  drawn  at  last, 
Let  us  depart  where  shadows  cease, 
With  words  of  blessing  and  of  peace. 

r^.'.:^^^^^^    Vi^^-te        i^       HAD  already  be- 

tjun  to  mourn 
for  Wayward, 
as  for  one  who 
was  lost  ;  for, 
even  had  he 
been  in  health 
and  vigour,  his 
strength  would  have  been  but  w^eakness 
against  the  ferocious  animal  that  was 
devouring    him    now  ;    but    sickly    and 


yr'''S^*f^ 


Gi 


SHADOW  OF    THE   CROSS. 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


65 


powerless  as  he  had  been  rendered  by 
disease,  save  by  his  fearful  shrieks  he 
could   offer   no  resistance   at   all.      His 
cries  for  help  were  becoming  fainter  and 
fainter,  when  behold  !   there  came  forth 
from   the  forest  a  fair  and  gentle  girl  ; 
her  garments  were  almost  of  a  spotless 
white,   and   yet  methought  she   seemed 
as   though    she    had    been    long   in   the 
garden,  and  the  name  of  "  Charity"  was 
written  on  her  brow.     And  I  wondered 
at  i\v^t  how  she   could    have  wandered 
through    that   gloomy   forest   alone,   and 
I    was   alarmed    lest   tlie  Hon  that  was 
tearing  Wayward    might  turn   his   fury 
upon  her;  but  I  soon  found  there  was 
cause  neither  for  wonder  nor  alarm,  for 
her  cross  was  in  her  hand.      The  sha- 
dow  fell   full    on    the    forehead   of    the 


savage    beast,    and   with   a    low   sullen 
growl  he  forsook  his  prey,  and  crouched 
in    servile   fear   before   the    little   child. 
His  eyes  glared   horribly  as  he  turned 
back,  and  he  kept  moving  his  head  to 
and  fro,  as  though  he  fain  would  have 
shaken  off  the    holy  image  ;    but    his 
struggles  to  resist  its  influence  were  all 
in  vain,  and  step  by  step  he  was  forced 
to  shrink  away,  and  hide  himself  in  the 
darkness  of  the  forest.     Then  did  Cha- 
rity draw  nigh  to  the  faint  and  bleeding 
boy,   and   bandage   his  mangled   hmbs, 
and  stanch  the  blood  that  was  gushing 
copiously  from  the  wounds ;  and,  as  she 
did   so,  the  purple  stream   that  flowed 
upon    her  garments   of   white,   left    no 
stain  upon  them,  but  only  made  them 
brighter  than  before. 


66 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


Wayward  had  had  a  very  narrow 
escape  from  destruction,  and  it  was  a 
long  time  before  he  so  far  came  to  him- 
self as  to  be  able  to  stand  up.  I  cannot 
tell  what  fearful  dreams  he  may  have 
had  while  he  was  lying  prostrate  on  the 
ground  ;  but  the  moment  that  he  arose, 
his  first  thought  was  of  his  cross  :  he 
felt  for  it  in  his  bosom,  but  he  found 
that  it  was  not  there  ;  and  I  shall 
not  easily  forget  the  look  of  anguish 
and  despair  that  was  on  his  face  when 
he  remembered  he  had  let  it  fall.  He 
threw  himself  down  on  the  ground,  and 
searched  very  anxiously  for  the  treasure 
he  had  neglected  so  long ;  but  his  head 
swam  and  his  sight  was  dizzy,  and  he 
looked  for  it  in  vain.  Nay,  it  had  fallen 
so  near  the  forest,  and  the  grass  was 


SHADOW  OF  THE  CROSS. 


67 


SO  long,   and    the  bushes   so  numerous, 
that  there  was  little  hope  of  his  recover- 
ing it  again;  and  yet  he  now  felt  that, 
if  he  found  it  not,  he  himself  was  lost. 
He   told   Charity  of  his    sad   loss,  and 
with  tears  and  groans  besought  her  ear- 
nestly to  assist  him  in  the  search.     So 
Charity  raised  her  own  cross  on  high, 
and    the   dark    outline   fell   on    a   thick 
bush    of   furze    close    by   the    outskirts 
of   the   wood ;    it   was    there    that    the 
cross  of  Wayward  had  fallen,  and  she 
bade  the  boy  call  earnestly  on  his  gra- 
cious Father,  and  advance  with  a  goQd 
courage,  telling  him  that,  though  others 
might  point  out  where  it  was,  no  hand 
but  his  own  could  take  it  up.      Way- 
ward did  advance,  but  it  was  with  fear 
and  trembling;  he  often  raised  his  eyes 


E2 


t 


68 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS. 


timidly  towards   the   forest,    as   though 
he  was  afraid  lest  the  lion  might  seize 
upon  him  again :  when,  too,  he  stood  by 
the  bush,  and  stretched  out  his  hand,  it 
was  sad  to  see  how  the  noxious  insects 
stung  him,  and  the  thorns  entered  into 
the  new-made  wounds ;  twice  in  anguish 
did  he  draw  it  back  ;  the  second  time 
that  he  did  so,  a  low  growl  was  heard 
issuing  from  the  wood,  and  then  in  haste 
he  thrust  his  hand  down  again,  regard- 
less of  the  pain,  and  seizing  on  his  lost 
treasure    hurried    back    to    the    side   of 
Charity. 

Now  I  rejoiced  greatly  that  Way- 
ward had  recovered  his  cross  ;  I  was 
glad,  too,  that  the  chalk  with  which 
Selfdeceit  had  bedaubed  his  clothes 
was  gone,  for  the  red  streams  of  blood 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


69 


had  washed  it  away.      Yet  still  was  I 
very  sorrowful  when   I  saw  how  fear- 
fully they  were  now  defiled  ;  it  seemed 
that  whole  rivers  of  tears  would  be  un- 
able to  restore  to  them  any  portion  of 
their   original   whiteness,    and    I    could 
not  but  doubt  whether  poor  Wayward 
might   hereafter   be    recognised    as    the 
King's  child.     The  same  thoughts,  too, 
were  weighing  him  down,  for  he  groan- 
ed deeply  and  was  very  sorrowful ;  and 
then  I  heard  Charity  speaking  to  him 
of  the  tender  mercies  of  their  King  and 
Father,  and  telling  him  that,  if  only  he 
was  able  to  hold  steadfastly  for  the  time 
to  come  by  the  cross,   and  walk  care- 
fully in  its  shadow,  he  need  in  no  wise 
despair,  for,  though  his  own  tears  could 
not  cleanse  his  garments,  there  was  One 


*  i 


I 


^ 


70 


SHADOW  OF  THE   CROSS. 


who  mifjht  wash  them  for  him  with  the 
water  of  hfe,  so  that,  though  they  were 
now  as  scarlet,  they  would  become  as 
white  as  snow,  though  they  were  red 
like  crimson,  they  should  be  as  wooL 
When  he  heard  this.  Wayward  look- 
ed down  upon  his  cross,  but  there  still 
was  very  much  of  sadness  in  his  gaze  ; 
he  felt  in  truth  that  his  hand  was  too 
feeble  to  hold  it  steadfastly  for  the 
time  to  come,  and  his  eye  too  dim 
to  discern  its  shadow.  But  Charitv 
again  addressed  him  with  words  of 
comfort ;  she  reminded  him  that  they 
were  not  alone  in  the  garden,  and  that 
there  were  means  by  which,  if  only  he 
would  be  diligent  in  employing  them, 
his  strength  and  his  sight  would  gradu- 
ally be  renewed  J  the  same  kind  Father, 


SHADOW  OP   THE   CROSS. 


71 


she  said,  **who  has  given  you  the  will 
and  the  power  to  recover  your  cross, 
can  render  it  once  more  the  guardian 
of  your  steps." 

Then  did  he  take  comfort,  and  while 
he  feebly  raised  his  cross,  methought 
that  he  earnestly  besought  his  Father 
to  restore  to  him  a  portion  of  his  former 
strength. 

For  some  little  while  Charity  walked 
by  his  side,  and  gently  holding  him  by 
the  hand,  guided  him  safely  through 
the  snares  and  stumbling-blocks  which 
beset  them  on  their  way.  But  before 
long  the  warning  shadows  bade  them 
proceed  along  different  paths,  that  of 
Charity  leading  her  through  a  smooth 
verdant  meadow,  that  of  Wayward  fall- 
ing on   a  rough   uneven  ground,   close 


!  I 


72 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS. 


to  the  border  of  the  wood.  So,  with 
many  a  parting  warning,  and  ever,  as 
she  went,  holding  on  high  the  sacred 
sign,  Charity  bade  adieu  to  Wayward, 


A'.HUr.A'* 


and  I  cannot  tell  that  she  ever  beheld 
him  again.  For  a  moment  I  watched 
her  hght  graceful  form  as  she  passed 
through  the  pleasant  fields  :  it  was, 
indeed,  a  lovely  sight;   the  long  grass 


I: 


' 


SHADOW  OF   THE    CROSS. 


73 


and  the  flowerr?  appeared  to  bend  as 
she  approached,  lest  they  might  stain 
the  hem  of  lier  white  garments  ;  the 
little  lambs  would  come  to  hck  tlie 
hand  which  held  the  cross,  and  tlie 
birds  sung  more  tunefully  as  its  sha- 
dow fell  upon  them. 

But  I  turned  from  this  pleasing  pic- 
ture, for  I  was  anxious  to  know  what 
would  become  of  Wayward  now  he 
was  once  more  alone ;  he  too  had  been 
watching  the  retreating  form  of  Charity, 
and  the  tear  rose  in  his  eye  as  he  felt 
it  was  not  for  him  to  accompany  her 
along  the  ways  of  pleasantness  and 
peace.  He  began  his  sohtary  journey, 
and  I  could  see  that  he  was  strug- 
gling hard  to  hold  firmly  by  the  cross, 
and    was   inwardlv   resolvinir   to   follow 


74 


SHADOW  OF    THE   CROSS. 


i! 


the  advice  of  Charity.  But,  alas !  that 
which  might  have  been  sweet  and  easy 
once  had  become  a  task  of  much  la- 
bour and  difficulty  now ;  for  thougli  his 
Father  did  not  suffer  his  strength  or 
sight  altogether  to  fail,  he  was  allowed 
continually  to  feel  the  ill  effects  of  his 
former  wanderings.  His  arm  grew  faint 
and  weary  when  he  lifted  it  on  high; 
and  his  cross  itself  would  at  one  time 
glow  with  a  burning  heat,  and  raise 
bUsters  on  his  hand  ;  and  at  another, 
would  become  cold  as  a  mass  of  ice, 
until  his  numbed  fingers  could  scarce 
retain  it  in  their  grasp.  Its  shadow, 
loo,  no  longer  fell  on  fruits  or  on  flow- 
ers, nor  on  any  thing  desirable  to  the 
eye,  but  on  husks  and  withered  leaves, 
and  all  the  refuse  of  the  earth.     I  saw, 


ii 


r 


SHADOW  OF    THE  CROSS. 


75 


also,  that  he  staggered  to  and  fro  as  he 
walked  along,  and  that,  from   his  very 
anxiety  to  place  his  footsteps  right,  he 
often  stumbled  and  well  nigh  fell,  and, 
by  the  continued  difficulties  of  the  path, 
he  was   brought   into    so   great   trouble 
and  misery,  that  he  went  mourning  all 
the   day  long.      How  strange  must   he 
now   have   thought    it,   that    there    had 
been   a  time  when   he   fancied  that  he 
could   walk   safely  without  the   aid   of 
his  cross  !   and  how  often  must  he  have 
wished  that  it  would  again  afford  him 
that  clear  and   distinct   shadow,  which 
it    was    wont    to    shed    when    first    he 
entered    the    garden  !      For    even    this 
comfort   was    denied    him    now.     The 
meteor  lights  which  he  had  allowed  to 
accompany  him  in  his  wanderings  with 


76 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


Sclfcleceit  still  continued  to  hover  around 
him,  and  kept  throwing  their  deceitful' 
shadows  on  secret  poisons  and  hidden 
snares :  many  a  time  did  he  pause  long 
and  anxiously,  before  he  could  distin- 
guish between  the  true  image  and  the 
false,  and  often  had  he  reason  to  re- 
joice that  the  real  shadow  was  dark' 
and  gloomy,  because  he  could  the  more 
easily  discern  it.  He  knew  also  that 
he  had  good  reason  to  be  alarmed,  for 
the  roar  of  the  lion  that  had  torn  him 
once  was  ever  sounding  in  his  ears ; 
and  each  time  that  he  hesitated,  he  fan- 
cied he  could  perceive  his  fierce  eyes 
glaring  upon  hmi  from  the  wood :  it 
seemed  as  though  the  beast,  having  once 
marked  him  for  his  own,  was  watching 
every  step  that  he  took,  and  ready  in  a 


SHADOW  OF    THE    CROSS. 


77 


moment  to  pounce  upon  his  prey.     At 
length  the  shadow  fell  upon  a  pathway 
leading   directly  into  the  wood  ;   Way- 
ward gazed   doubtfully  upon  it   a  little 
while,  but,  when  he  saw  that  it  was  the 
true    image,    with    slow    and    trembling 
steps  he  continued  to  follow  it.      I  soon 
lost   sight  of  him  among   the   trees,  so 
that  I  cannot  tell  what  may  have  be- 
fallen  him   there  ;    but   I   have   a  good 
hope  that  he  walked  in  safety  through 
all  its  dangers,  for,  though  his  garments 
were  stained  with  blood,  and  his  hmbs 
were  faint,  and  his  eyes  dim,  and  though 
the  beasts  of  the  forests  were  howling 
around  him,  his  cross  was  in  his  hand. 
Still  I  was  not  sorry  that  I  could  no 
longer  watch   him,   for   it   had    become 
very  painful  to  me  to  trace  his  steps  ; 


i  f 


78 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS. 


1 


not  only  was  there  trouble  in  each  path 
that  he  trod,  but  there  was  even  much 
to  render  me  sad  in  the  gloomy  shadows 
that  fell  from  his  cross;  so  I  suffered 
my  eye   to   wander  towards   the   more 
lovely  parts  of  the  garden,  in  hopes  .that 
once  again  it  might  rest  upon  Mirth.     I 
soon  discovered   him   not  far  from  the 
field  in  which  Wayward  had  left  him ; 
he   had   altered   very  little   since   then, 
except  that  the  cheerfulness  of  his  coun- 
tenance and  the   buoyancy  of  his  step 
had  returned.     He  was  holding  his  cross 
towards  the  sun,  and  his  face  beamed 
bright  with  gratitude  as   be  traced   its 
outline  on   the   flowers   strewed   in   his 
path.      The  shadows  were  not,  indeed, 
so  light  and  lovely  as  those  which  had 
fallen  from  the  cross  of  Innocence,  yet 


SHADOW  OF    THE   CROSS. 


79 


Still  they  were  very  beautiful,  —  more 
beautiful  than  the  fairest  flowers  on 
which  they  fell.  The  garments  of 
Mirth  had  almost  recovered  their  white- 
ness, yet  they,  too,  were  not  so  bright 
and  shining  as  those  of  Innocence  had 
been  ;  nay,  I  fancied  I  could  yet  trace 
upon  them  the  dim  outline  of  each  for- 
mer stain,  not  only  the  deeper  marks 
thai  had  been  caused  by  his  careless 
chase  with  Wayward,  but  even  the  first 
little  spot  that  the  falling  rose  leaf  had 
lefl:.  The  marks  were  so  very  faint, 
tliat  while  the  shadow  of  the  cross  rest- 
ed upon  them  they  could  not  be  dis- 
cerned ;  but,  when  they  were  exposed 
to  the  clear  and  brilliant  light  of  the  sun, 
I  could  see  that  they  still  were  there. 
*'  Surely,  then,"   I    said    within   myself, 


i 


^  I 


mm 


80 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


81 


"  the  children  whose  garments  are  yet 
unsullied,  would  run  less  heedlessly,  if 
they  knew  that  their  early  stains  would 
continue  with    them    so   long  !"      Mirth 
was   happy   now,    but    he    would    have 
been  far  happier  if  he  had  never  left  the 
shadow  of  his  cross  ;  for  there  was  often 
a  momentary  expression  of  sadness  on 
his  face,  when  some  gay  butterfly  with 
its  golden  wings  fluttered  across  his  path, 
and  brought  to  his  remembrance  his  for- 
mer wanderings.    Yet  were  his  garments 
so  white,  that  it  was  easy  to  recognise 
him  for  the  King's  child  ;   and  I  knew 
that  his  kind  Father  would  cleanse  them 
at  last  from  every  spot,   and   I  almost 
longed  for  the  time  when  the  white  dove 
might    settle   on    his    cross,    and    Mirth 
should  be  called  away  from  the  garden. 


Then  did  my  thoughts  wander  to  the 
land  to  which  Innocence  was  gone,  and 
I  said  in  my  heart,  how  glorious  must 
that  land  be  in  which  this  same  bright 
sun  is  shining,  while  all  the  childr^ 
are  clad  in  raiment  of  a  dazzling  white- 
ness !  Tt  must  be  that  the  cross,  which 
is  their  safeguard  here,  will  there  be 
their  delight ;  they  will  love  for  ever  to 
watch  the  holy  shadows  ;  and  yet  will 
they  then  require  them  no  more,  for  in 
that  better  land  there  will  be  neither 
danger  in  the  fields,  nor  poison  in  the 
flowers.  • 

And  the  still  soft  Voice  replied:  "In 
that  better  land  there  will  be  neither 
fields  nor  flowers  such  as  you  now  be- 
hold, for  the  grass  withereth,  and  the 
flower  fadeth,  but  there  will  be  nothing 


I 


82 


SHADOW  OF    THE  CROSS. 


t 


there  that  can  either  wither  or  fade.  In 
that  better  land  the  cross  will  indeed 
be  the  delight  of  the  children,  and  the 
bright  sun  will  be  reflected  on  their  gar- 
ments of  dazzling  whiteness  ;  but,  when 
raised  on  high,  the  cross  will  cast  no 
shadow  there  ;  it  will  itself  shine  with 
exceeding  lustre,  the  rays  of  immortahty 
will  be  shed  from  it,  and  all  things  will 
be  filled  with  light  and  gladness  by  its 
pure  and  living  fire." 

Now,  while  I  wondered  at  this,  and 
tried  to  picture  to  myself  a  land  lovely 
without  fields  or  flowers,  and  in  which 
the  cross  might  be  raised  towards  the 
sun  and  yet  no  shadow  be  discerned, 
behold !  the  vision  of  the  fair  garden 
passed  away,  and  I  saw  no  more. 


^txts  from  ^olg  Strip tu«. 


The  following  and  similar  passages  of  Scripture  may 
be  impressed  on  the  minds  of  children,  by  point- 
ing out  their  connexion  with    the   different  parfj 

of  the    ALIiEGOBY 


"  The  sun  of  righteousness  (shall) 
arise  with  healing  in  his  wings."* 

*'  The  darkness  is  past,  and  the  true 
light  now  shineth.'"^ 

"  That  was  the  true  light,  which 
lighteth  every  man  that  cometh  into 
the  world."  ^ 

**  Ye   are   all    the   children    of   light, 

F8 


., 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 

and  the  children  of  the  day ;  we  are  not 
of  the  night,  nor  of  darkness."  * 

"  That  ye  should  show  forth  the 
praises  of  him,  who  hath  called  you  out 
of  darkness  into  his  marvellous  light."* 

"  Except  a  man  be  born  of  water, 
and  of  the  Spirit,  he  cannot  enter  into 
the  kingdom  of  God."* 

"  The  like  figure  whereunto  even 
baptism  doth  also  now  save  us  (not 
the  putting  away  of  the  filth  of  the 
flesh,  but  the  answer  of  a  good  con- 
science towards  God)  by  the  resurrec- 
tion of  Jesus  Christ."^ 

"  God  is  faithful,  who  will  not  sutler 
you  to  be  tempted  above  that  ye  are 
able  ;  but  will,  with  the  temptation,  also 
make  a  way  to  escape,  that  ye  may  be 
able  to  bear  it."^ 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS. 


85 


"  The  Lord  is  their  strength,  and  he 
is  the  saving  strength  of  his  anointed."* 

"  My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee :  for  my 
strength  is  made  perfect  in  weakness." '" 

*'  When  that  which  is  perfect  is  come, 
then  that  which  is  in  part  shall  be  done 

away."  " 

*«  I  am  a  stranger  with  thee,  and  a 
sojourner,  as  all  my  fathers  were."^* 

**  For  they  that  say  such  things,  de- 
clare plainly  that  they  seek  a  country."  '^ 

**  But  now  they  desire  a  better  coun- 
try, that  is,  an  heavenly:  wherefore  God 
is  not  ashamed  to  be  called  their  God  : 
for  he  hath  prepared  for  them  a  city."'* 

"  Come,  ye  blessed  of  my  Father,  in- 
herit the  kingdom  prepared  for  you  from 
the    foundation   of  the   world."'' 

«*  The  children  of  the  kingdom  shall  be 


86 


SHADOW  OF  THE  CROSS. 


SHADOW  OF  THE  CROSS. 


87 


cast  out  into  outer  darkness ;  there  shall 
be  weeping  and  gnashing  of  teeth."  '^ 

"  Trust  in  the  Lord  with  all  thine 
heart,  and  lean  not  unto  thine  own  un- 
derstanding. In  all  thy  ways  acknow- 
ledge him,  and  he  shall  direct  thy 
paths."  " 

"  Her  ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness, 
and  all  her  paths  are  peace."  ^^ 

*'  Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will 
fear  no  evil :  for  thou  art  with  me ;  thy 
rod  and  thy  staff,  they  comfort  me."'* 

"  I  heard  a  voice  from  heaven,  say- 
ing unto  me,  '  Write,  Blessed  are  the 
dead  which  die  in  the  Lord,  from 
henceforth.'  "20 

"  But  I  would  not  have  you  to  bo 
ignorant,      brethren,     concerning     them 


which   are   asleep,  that  ye  sorrow   not 
even  as  others  which  have  no  hope."^* 


"It  is  better  to  go  to  the  house  of 
mourning,  than  tq  go  to  the  house  of 
feasting,  for  that  is  the  end  of  all  men, 
and  the  living  will  lay  it  to  his  heart. 
Sorrow  is  better  than  laughter,  for  by 
the  sadness  of  the  countenance  the 
heart  is  made  better."'^* 

"  Whom  the  Lord  loveth  he  chasten- 
eth,  and  scourgeth  every  son  whom  he 
receiveth." '^ 

**  Enter  not  into  the  path  of  the 
wicked,  and  go  not  into  the  way  of 
evil  men."'^* 

"  There  is  a  way  that  seemeth  right 


r 


88 


SHADOW  OF    THE   CROSS. 


unto   a  man,  but  the   end   thereof  are 
the  ways  of  death."  ^ 

"As  for  me,  my  feet  were  almost 
gone,  my  steps  had  well  nigh  sUpped  ; 
for  I  was  envious  at  the  foohsh,  when 
I  saw  the  prosperity  of  the  wicked."* 

"  The  way  of  the  wicked  is  as  dark- 
ness ;  they  know  not  at  what  they  stum- 
ble."^ 

"  Before  1  was  afflicted,  1  went  astray, 

but  now  have  I  kept  thy  word."=* 

«*Let  thine  eyes  look  right  on,  and 
let  thine  eyeUds  look  straight  before 
thee.  Ponder  the  path  of  thy  feet,  and 
let  all  thy  ways  be  established.  Turn 
not  to  the  right  hand,  nor  to  the  left : 
remove  thy  foot  from  evil."^ 

"  Now  I    rejoice    not    that    ye   were 
made  sorry,  but  that  ye  sorrowed  to  re- 


SHADOW  OF    THE   CROSS. 


89 


pentance :  for  ye  were  made  sorry  after 
a  godly  manner,  that  ye  might  receive 
damage  by  us  in  nothing.  For  godly 
sorrow  worketh  repentance  to  salvation, 
not  to  be  repented  of:  but  the  sorrow 
of  the  world  worketh  death."  ^ 

"  Blessed    are    they   that    mourn,    for 
they  shall  be  comforted."^' 


I 


"  A  DOUBLE-MINDED  man  is  unstable 
in  all  his  ways."^^ 

So  they  did  eat  and  were  well  filled  ; 
for  he  gave  them  their  own  desire ; 
they  were  not  estranged  from  their  lust. 
But  while  their  meat  was  yet  in  their 
mouths,  the  wrath  of  God  came  upon 
them."^ 


90 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


"  Take  heed,  brethren,  lest  there  be 
in  any  of  you  an  evil  heart  of  unbelief 
in  departing  from  the  living  God.  Bui 
exhort  one  another  daily  while  it  is  call- 
ed to-day,  lest  any  of  you  be  hardened 
through  the  deceitfulness  of  sin."^ 

*'  In  whom  the  god  of  this  world  hath 
blinded  the  minds  of  them  which  believe 
not,  lest  the  light  of  the  glorious  gospel 
of  Christ,  who  is  the  image  of  God, 
should  shine  unto  them."^^ 

"  For  such  are  false  apostles,  deceitful 
workers,  transforming  themselves  into 
the  apostles  of  Christ.  And  no  marvel, 
for  Satan  himself  is  transformed  into  an 
angel  of  light."* 

"  Hypocrites !  for  ye  are  like  unto 
whited  sepulchres,  which  indeed  appear 
beautiful   outward,  but   are  within  full 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


91 


of  dead  men's  bones,  and  of  all  un- 
cleanness.  Even  so,  ye  also  outwardly 
appear  righteous  unto  men,  but  within, 
ve  are  full  of  hypocrisy  and  iniquity."  ^^ 

**  The  way  of  peace  they  know  not, 
and  there  is  no  judgment  in  their 
goings  :  they  have  made  them  crooked 
paths ;  whosoever  goeth  therein,  shall 
not  know  peace."  ^^ 

**  Woe  unto  them  that  call  evil  good, 
and  good  evil ;  that  put  darkness  for 
light,  and  light  for  darkness  ;  that  put 
bitter  for  sweet,  and  sweet  for  bitter."^ 

'*  For  many  walk  of  whom  I  have 
told  you  often,  and  now  tell  you  even 
weeping,  that  they  are  the  enemies  of 
the  cross  of  Christ,  whose  end  is  de- 
struction." " 

*'  When  your  fear  cometh  as  desolation. 


92 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


and  your  destruction  cometh  as  a  whirl- 
wind, when  distress  and  anguish  cometh 
upon  you,  then  shall  they  call  upon  me, 
but  I  will  not  answer:  they  shall  seek 
me  early,  but  they  shall  not  find  me."  " 
"  Then  shall  two  be  in  the  field  ;  the 
one  shall  be  taken,  and  the  other  left."^^ 


"  To  the  Lord  our  God  belong  mer- 
cies and  forgivenesses,  though  we  have 
rebelled  against  him  ;  neither  have  we 
obeyed  the  voice  of  the  Lord  our  God, 
to  walk  in  his  laws  which  he  set  before 


us."^^ 


!li 


"  Brethren,  if  any  of  you  do  err 
from  the  truth,  and  one  convert  him, 
let  him  know  that  he  which  converteth 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


93 


the  sinner  from  the  error  of  his  way 
shall  save  a  soul  from  death,  and  shall 
hide  a  multitude  of  sins."^** 

"  Woe  unto  us  that  we  have  sinned  ! 
for  this  our  heart  is  faint ;  for  these 
things  our  eyes  are  dim."^^ 

"  If  any  man  will  come  after  me,  let 
him  deny  himself,  and  take  up  his  cross 
and  follow  me.  For  what  is  a  man 
profited  if  he  shall  gain  the  whole 
world,  and  lose  his  own  soul  ?  or  what 
shall  a  man  give  in  exchange  for  his 
soul?"" 

"  They  that  turn  many  to  righteous- 
ness, (shall  shine)  as  the  stars  for  ever 
and  ever."^^ 

**  There  is  no  soundness  in  my  flesh 
because  of  thine  anger ;  neither  is  there 
any  rest  in  my  bones  because  of  my  sin. 


94 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


SHADOW  OF   THE   CROSS. 


95 


For  mine  iniquities  are  gone  over  mine 
head  as  an  heavy  burden,  they  are  too 
heavy  for  me  ;  my  wounds  stink  and 
are  corrupt,  because  of  my  foolishness. 
I  am  troubled,  I  am  bowed  down  great- 
ly >  1  g<^  mourning  all  the  day  long."*^ 

*'  Wash  me  throughly  from  mine  ini- 
quity, and  cleanse  me  from  my  sin ;  for 
I  acknowledge  my  transgressions,  and 
my  sin  is  ever  before  me."** 

**  The  sacrifices  of  God  are  a  broken 
spirit ;  a  broken  and  a  contrite  heart, 
O  God,  thou  wilt  not  despise.®" 

"  For  the  Lord  will  not  cast  off  for 
ever :  but  though  he  cause  grief,  yet 
will  he  have  compassion  according  to 
the  multitude  of  his  mercies."" 

"Mark  the  perfect  man,  and  behold  the 
upright,  for  the  end  of  that  man  is  peace.' 


iV* 


"  If  thou,  O  Lord,  shouldst  mark  ini- 
quities, O  Lord,  who  shall  stand  ?  but 
there  is  forgiveness  with  thee,  that  thou 
mayest  be  feared."®^ 

**  And  he  carried  me  away  in  the 
spirit,  to  a  great  and  high  mountain, 
and  shewed  me  that  great  city,  the  ho- 
ly Jerusalem,  descending  out  of  heaven 
from  God,  having  the  glory  of  God  :  and 
her  Hght  was  like  unto  a  stone  most 
precious,  even  like  unto  a  jasper  stone 
clear  as  crystal."®* 

**  And  I  heard  a  great  voice  out  of 
lieaven,  saying.  Behold  the  tabernacle 
of  God  is  with  men,  and  he  will  dwell 
with  them,  and  they  shall  be  his  people, 
and  God  himself  shall  be  with  them, 
and  be  their  God.  And  God  shall  wipe 
away   all    tears   from   their  eyes ;    and 


I 


96 


SHADOW  OF   THE  CROSS. 


there  shall  be  no  more  death,  neither 
sorrow,  nor  crying,  neither  shall  there 
be  any  more  pain,  for  the  former  things 
are  passed  away."^' 


I  Mai.  iv.  2. 

19 

Psalm  xxiil.  4. 

38 

Tsa.  lix.  8. 

2  1  John  ii.  8. 

SO 

Rev.  xiv.  13. 

39 

Isa.  V.  20. 

3  John  i.  9. 

21 

1  Thess.  iv.  13. 

40 

Phil.  iii.  18,  19. 

4  1  Thess.  V.  6. 

3^ 

Eccl.  vii.  2,  3. 

41 

Prov.  i.  27,  28. 

5  1  Pet.  ii.  9. 

23 

Heb.  xii.  6. 

42 

Matt.  xxiv.  40. 

8  John  iii.  6. 

■n 

Prov.  iv.  14. 

43 

Dan.  ix.  9,  10. 

7  1  Peter  iii.  21. 

25 

Prov.  xvi.  25. 

44 

James  v.  19,  20. 

8  1  Cor.  X.  13. 

26 

Psalm  Ixxiii.  2,  3. 

4> 

Lam.  V.  16,  17. 

9  Psalm  xxviii.  S. 

Zl 

Prov.  V.  19. 

46 

Matt.  xvi.  24,  26. 

10  2  Cor.  xii.  9. 

38 

Psalm  cxix.  67. 

47 

Dan.  xii.   3. 

11    1  Cor.  xiii.  10. 

29 

Prov.  iv.  25,  26,  27. 

43 

Ps.  xxxviii.  3,  4,  h,  ( 

li  Psalm  xxxix.  12. 

30 

2  Cor.  vii.  9,  10. 

49 

Psalm  Ii.  2,  3. 

13  Heb.  xi.  14. 

31 

Matt.  V.  4. 

50 

Psalm  Ii.  17. 

n  Heb.  xi.  16. 

32 

James  i.  8. 

51 

Lam.  iii.  31,  32- 

15  Matt  XXV.  34. 

23 

Ps.  Lxxviii.  29,  31. 

52 

Psalm  xxxvii.  37. 

16  Matt.  viii.  12. 

34 

Heb.  iu.  12,  13. 

53 

Ps.  cxxx.  3,  4. 

n  Prov.  iii.  5,  6. 

33  2  Cor.  iv.  4. 

54 

Rev.  xxi.  10,  11. 

13  Prov.  iii.  17. 

36 
87 

2  Cor.  xi.  13,  14. 
Matt.  xxiu.  27,  2a 

55 

Rev.  xxi.  3,  4. 

THE     END 


I 


.^ 


Paox  U. 


^t  Elistant  J^UU. 


CHAPTER  I. 


Abide  with,  me  from  morn  till  eve, 
For  without  Thee  I  cannot  live: 
Ahide  with  me  when  night  is  nigh. 
For  without  Thee  I  dare  not  die. 


I 


T  was  a  drea- 
ry night,  and 
the  wind  moan- 
ed among  the 
trees  of  a  vast 
and  gloomy  fo- 
rest ;  dark  win- 
try clouds  were 


JIB.  mii»',»iiiLi«i)jiiiiiiiii  ■ 


8 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


flitting  across  the  sky ;  the  moon  and  the 
stars  gleamed  forth  at  intervals,  but 
their  partial  light  was  intercepted  by 
the  thick  branches  of  the  wood.  Two 
poor  orphans  had  been  benighted  there, 
and  could  find  no  track  to  lead  them 
through  its  gloom.  They  felt  that  it 
was  in  vain  for  them  to  wander  to  and 
fro  without  some  friendly  hand  to  guide 
their  steps  ;  yet  they  were  afraid  to  call 
out  for  assistance,  lest  the  wild  beasts 
that  howled  around  might  be  attracted 
by  their  cries ;  and  at  length,  cold,  faint, 
and  weary,  they  sank  down  side  by  side 
on  the  damp  earth,  and  gave  themselves 
over  for  lost. 

Now,  while  they  were  in  this  miser- 
able condition,  they  were  startled  by 
hearing  the   footstep   of  one  who   trod 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


9 


softly  among  the  leaves  of  the  forest; 
the  roar  of  the  lion,  the  hissing  of  the 
serpent,  and  all  other  evil  sounds,  were 
hushed  as  it  drew  near ;   and  presently 
the    silence    was    broken    by    a    gentle 
voice,  which  asked  the  children  whether 
they  would  be  glad  to  leave  that  danger- 
ous wood,  and  to  be  taken  to  a  bright, 
cheerful,  and  happy  home.      The  poor 
orphans  scarcely  understood  the  mean- 
ing of  the  words  ;   they  made  an  effort 
to  arise  ;  but  their  limbs  were  too  feeble 
to  support  them  ;    they  tried  to  speak, 
but   their   voices    also   failed  ;    so   they 
could  only  look  up  to  the  stranger  with 
tearful  eyes,  as  though  they  fain  would 
have  besought   him   to  have  pity  upon 
them,  and  carry  them  away  from  that 
terrible  place. 


10 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


Then  the  stranger  took  the  little  girls 
in  his  arms,  and  with  a  quick,  unerring 
step,  walked  straight  on,  until  he  had 
brought  them  to  a  river  at  the  boundary 
of  the  forest.  Here  he  paused  for  a 
moment,  and  bathed  the  children  in  the 
refreshing  water.  He  then  crossed  over 
to  a  gentle  eminence  beyond,  and  suf- 
fered them  to  rest  on  the  soft  grass. 
Now,  such  was  the  virtue  of  that  river  in 
which  the  two  sisters  had  been  bathed, 
that  it  not  only  had  washed  away  from 
their  garments  the  stains  that  had  clung 
to  them  in  the  wood,  but  it  had  also  re- 
moved the  stiffness  and  weariness  of 
their  limbs,  and  given  them,  as  it  were, 
new  life.  The  night,  too,  had  passed 
away,  and  a  fresh  morning  now  dawned 
upon  them  ;  and  as  the  early  sun  shone 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


11 


brightly,  they  felt  cheerful  and  happy, 
and  began,  with  grateful  hearts,  to  thank 
the  kind  stranger  for  their  deliverance. 
He  looked  down,  and  putting  one  hand 
on  the  head  of  each,  smiled  graciously 
upon  them,  and  told  them  that  they 
were  now  among  the  number  of  his 
Father's  adopted  children,  and  that  their 
names  were  Rhoda  and  Minna  ;  he 
promised  also  that  if  they  would  be 
content  to  love  and  obey  him,  he  had 
yet  greater  kindness  in  store  for  them 
than  that  which  they  had  received. 

While  the  children  wondered  at  these 
words,  he  raised  his  finger,  and,  pointing 
to  the  east,  asked  them  what  they  saw. 
Rhoda  and  Minna  looked  up  and  gazed 
in  silence,  for  they  were  unable  to  de- 
scribe the   grandeur  of  the  scene.      It 


12 


THE  DISTANT  HILLS. 


seemed  as  though  there  were  a  vast 
ocean  of  hills  and  mountains,  rising 
majestically  one  above  the  other ;  the 
sides  of  them  were  covered  with  the 
brightest  flowers  and  greenest  verdure, 
but  the  top  of  them  they  were  unable 
to  see,  for  a  bright  and  fleecy  cloud  was 
resting  upon  it. 

And  the  stranger  said,  **  Among  those 
glorious  mountains  my  Father  has  his 
dwelHng-place,  and  you,  from  this  hour, 
must  learn  to  look  upon  them  as  your 
home.  Thousands  and  thousands  of 
happy  children  are  living  there  ;  they 
already  regard  you  as  members  of  the 
same  family  as  themselves,  and  at  this 
moment,  in  their  morning  song,  are 
rejoicing  at  your  deliverance  from  the 
dangers  of  the  forest.     Listen,  and  you 


# 


t 


THE  DISTANT  HILLS. 


13 


will  hear  their  voices."  Then  there 
arose  a  soft  and  gentle  breeze  ;  it  was 
fragrant  with  the  flowers  that  grew  upon 
the  mountains,  and  strains  of  heavenly 
music  came  floating  upon  it. 

Rhoda  and  Minna  listened  in  rap- 
ture to  the  sound,  and  they  wondered 
whether  their  kind  deliverer  would  bear 
them  at  once  to  those  distant  hills,  and 
allow  them  to  unite  their  voices  in  the 
song  of  joy.  But  he  answered  their 
thoughts,  and  said,  "  Not  yet,  my  chil- 
dren ;  I  cannot  yet  suflfer  you  to  dwell 
with  the  rest  of  my  family  in  their 
happy  home  ;  you  must  be  content  for 
a  little  while  to  think  of  it,  to  watch  it, 
to  wish  for  it,  and  to  love  it.  For  one 
day  and  one  night  I  shall  leave  you  on 
the  spot  where  you  now  are.     Here  you 


14 


THE    DISTANT    HILLS. 


^ 


will  have  a  period  of  light,  and  a  period 
of  darkness  ;  during  the  former  you  must 
be  watchful,  during  the  latter  you  must 
rest ;  but  the  length  of  each  of  them 
is  uncertain.  I  shall  not  tell  you  how 
many  the  hours  of  hght,  and  how  many 
those  of  darkness  will  be.  It  may  be 
that  you  will  be  allowed  the  gradual  suc- 
cession of  morning,  noon,  and  evening  ; 
and  will  experience  also  the  changes  of 
sunshine  and  of  storm  ;  for  it  may  be 
that  the  sun  which  now  shines  upon 
you  will  sink  in  a  moment,  while  yet  it 
seems  to  be  in  the  east,  and  the  night 
will  suddenly  arrive.  But  whatever  be 
the  length  of  the  day,  the  service  that  I 
require  of  you  is  the  same  :  you  are  to 
keep  raising  your  eyes  to  those  beautiful 
hills   in   the   distance  ;    to   take  delight 


]D 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


15 


in  the  mountain  breeze,  and  to  listen 
with  joy  and  thankfulness*^ to  the  soft 
strains  -of  music  that  you  hear.  So 
will  your  hearts  and  voices  be  in  har- 
mony with  the  rest  of  my  Father's  chil- 
dren, when  the  hour  comes  at  which  I 
shall  return  to  take  you  to  the  land 
where  they  dwell.  I  do  not,  indeed, 
forbid  you  to  enjoy  the  beauties  of  the 
spot  on  which  you  will  be  left ;  you 
may  employ  yourselves  in  cultivating 
the  ground,  and  endeavour,  as  far  as 
you  are  able,  to  increase  its  loveliness  ; 
you  may  also,  if  you  wish  it,  play  toge- 
ther upon  the  grass,  and  gather  freely 
of  the  flowers  that  are  around  you  ;  but 
do  not  suffer  vour  affections  to  be  fixed 
upon  them,  or  regard  them  as  your  own : 
they  cannot  afford  yoa  lasting  pleasure ; 


16 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


for  they  will  soon  themselves  wither 
and  die  :  the  garden  in  which  they  grow 
is  only  for  a  little  while  your  •  resting- 
place,  the  distant  hills  are  your  home. 
Of  all  the  objects  that  you  now  see, 
those  hills  alorie-  are  eternal,  and  will 
never  disappoint  your  love  ;  if  any 
trouble  or  affliction  befal  you,  it  is  to 
them  that  you  must  lift  up  your  eyes, 
for  upon  them  are  herbs  that  can  as- 
suage every  care  and  sorrow,  and  trees 
and  flowers  that  never  fade.  This,  then, 
is  the  easy  service  that  I  require  of  you 
during  the  present  day.  Do  not  forget 
that  at  any  moment  it  may  close,  and 
that,  sooner  or  later,  a  long  night  will 
succeed  it.  You  will  then  feel  your 
eyes  grow  heavy,  and  a  deep  sleep,  that 
you  cannot  resist,  will  fall  upon  you  ; 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


17 


but  if  you  have  remained  within  view 
of  the  eastern  mountains,  you  may  lie 
down  to  rest  without  fear,  for  no  evil 
shaU  befal  you  during  the  long  hours 
of  the  night.  On  the  morrow  the  shrill 
blast  of  a  trumpet  will  arouse  you  from 
your  repose,  and  I  will  then  return 
with  the  children  to  whose  voices  you 
have  been  listening,  and  carry  you  away 
to  the  beautiful  hills.  There  you  will 
live  with  me  for  ever ;  for  to  that  happy 
land  there  is  no  morning,  noon,  or  even- 
ing, but  the  joy  and  unchanging  bright- 
ness of  an  everlasting  day." 

The  stranger  paused  a  little  while, 
that  the  hearts  of  the  sisters  might  in- 
dulge in  those  glad  and  grateful  feelings 
which  his  promise  had  called  forth ;  he 
then  directed  their  attention  to  a  long 


B 


18 


THE  DISTANT   HILLS. 


ruinous  wall,  situated  between  the  emi- 
nence   on    which    they   stood    and    the 
beautiful    mountains    in    the   east,    and 
with    sadder    accents   again    addressed 
them.      "  Whatever,    my   children,    be 
the  events  of  the  day,  let  neither  sun- 
shine nor  storm  tempt  you  to  take  shel- 
ter beneath   that   ruined   building.      At 
present  you  can  hardly  discern  its  out- 
line, but  when  the  sun  shall  have  risen 
higher  in  the   heavens   it  will  become 
clearer,  and  you  will  see  much  that  is 
hidden   from   you   now.      I  warn   you, 
therefore,  beforehand,  that  the   flowers 
that  grow  there  are  poisonous,  the  huge 
stones  ready  at  any  instant  to  fall,  and 
that  everything  about  it  is  full  of  dan- 
ger;    and,    above    all,    remember    that 
though   from  this   point  it   appear  low 


THE    DISTANT   HILLS. 


19 


K" 


and  insignificant,  when  compared  with 
the  height  immeasurable  of  the  distant 
hills,  yet,  if  you  stand  close  under  it, 
they  will  be   shut  out  altogether   from 
your  view.     Do  not  imagine  that  when 
you  once   lose  sight  of  them  you  can 
come  back  as  soon  as  you  wish  it,  and 
raise  your  eyes  to  them   again ;    diffi- 
culties that  you  know  not  of  will  meet 
you  on  your  way ;  nay,  it  may  be  that 
the  day  will  close  so  suddenly  that  you 
will  have  no  opportunity  to  return ;  and, 
should  it  be  otherwise,  there  are  strange 
sights  and  sounds  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  wall,  which  will   soon   blot  out 
the  remembrance  of  all  you  now  love 
to  see  and   hear.     You  will  gradually 
forget  the  distant  hills,  and  the  sweet 
notes  of  music  that  proceed  from  them ; 


BS 


so 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS 


for  there  will  be  nothing  to  recall  them 
to  your  minds.  If,  when  your  eyes 
grow  heavy,  be  it  sooner  or  later,  you 
are  still  found  lingering  under  the  wall, 
sad  indeed  will  be  your  fate  ;  for,  how- 
ever long  the  night  may  be,  you  will 
then  be  unable  to  leave  the  spot  where 
sleep  shall  first  steal  upon  you ;  and 
to-morrow,  when  the  trumpet  sounds, 
the  whole  of  that  building  will  fall  with 
violence  to  the  ground,  and  those  who 
lie  under  it,  will  be  crushed  beneath 
its  ruins.  Do  not,  then,  my  dear  chil- 
dren, allow  for  one  instant  the  frail  and 
perishable  wall  to  intercept  your  pros- 
pect of  the  distant  and  eternal  hills." 
After  this  grave  warning,  the  kind 
stranger  gave  to  each  child  a  flute, 
telling   them   that   his    Father  loved   to 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


21 


hear  the  voices  of  all  his  children,  and 
that  they  must  endeavour  to  take  part 
in  the  music  of  the  happy  family  that 
dwelt  around  his  throne.  He  bade  them 
also,  if  at  any  time  they. had  carelessly 
wandered  from  the  spot  where  he  placed 
them,  to  think  of  him,  and  with  sorrowful 
hearts  to  play  upon  these  flutes,  that  so 
they  might  be  brought  back  to  it  again ; 
for  that  though  they  were  afar  off",  and 
their  voices  very  faint  and  feeble,  still 
each  note  would  find  its  echo  among  the 
mountains,  and  that  he  himself  would 
never  fail  to  send  an  answer  to  their  song. 
Now  as  Rhoda  and  Minna  raised 
their  eyes  to  thank  him  for  his  gift 
and  promise,  they  found  they  were 
alone.  He  had  already  left  them,  and 
was  gone  to  the  distant  hills. 


22 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


The  sisters  stood  for  a  little  while, 
holding  each  other  by  the  hand,  and 
meditated  in  silence  on  the  words  they 
had  heard.  They  had  thought  first  of 
all  that  it  would  be  a  very  pleasant 
and  easy  task  to  watch  continually  the 
glorious  view  that  opened  upon  them 
from  the  east,  and  to  hope  for  their 
kind  benefactor's  return  ;  and  yet  now 
they  could  not  help  trembling  with  an 
instinctive  alarm  at  the  warning  he  had 
given  them  about  the  dangerous  wall. 
It  seemed  so  very  sad  a  fate,  if  on  the 
morrow,  when  he  came  back  to  take 
them  with  him  to  their  promised  home, 
they  should  be  found  crushed  to  pieces 
by  the  ruin. 

Rhoda  was  the  first  to  endeavour  to 
set  this  feeling  aside.     <*  Look,  sister," 


THE  DISTANT   HILLS. 


23 


she  said,  "at  that  dark  mouldering  pile 
of  bricks  and  stones  ;  surely  there  is 
little  there  to  tempt  us  from  the  green 
grass  and  pleasant  flowers  of  the  spot 
on  which  we  are.  Nay,  had  it  not 
been  pointed  out  to  us,  we  should 
scarcely  have  observed  it  at  all."  But 
Minna  raised  her  eyes  very  timidly, 
and  replied,  "  Some  danger  there  must 
be,  or  our  kind  protector  would  not 
have  cautioned  us  against  it.  Remem- 
ber that  this  is  but  the  first  beginning 
of  our  day ;  and  he  warned  us,  that 
while  the  sun  was  in  the  east,  we 
should  not  be  able  to  see  clearly  the 
things  that  grew  upon  the  wall.  Doubt- 
less, under  a  clearer  light,  or  if  haply  we 
approach  nearer,  it  will  seem  brighter 
and   more  attractive  than  it  does  now. 


34 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


26 


Let  us,  then,  my  dear  sister,  resolve 
to  look  at  it  no  more,  but  at  once  to 
fix  our  gaze  upon  the  distant  hills." 

As    she    thus    spoke,    she    breathed 
lightly  upon  her  flute,  and  a  soft  note 
of   music    proceeded    from    it  :    in    an 
instant,    the    cloud    that    rested    upon 
the  mountains  was  stirred  by  a  gentle 
breeze,    and    a    strain    of   far    sweeter 
melody  was  wafted   back   to   the   chil- 
dren.    Then  Rhoda  also  breathed  upon 
her  flute,  and  played  it  in  harmony  with 
that  of  Minna ;    and  when   the  distant 
music  was  again  heard  in  reply,  both  the 
sisters  found  pleasure  in  the  thought,  that 
they  formed  part  of  the  same  choir  with 
the  children  who  dwelt  upon  the  hills, 
and  that  the  kind  stranger,  according  to 
his  promise,  was  hstening  to  their  song. 


For  the  few  first  hours  of  their  day 
of  trial  the  two  sisters  lived  happily 
together  on  the  spot  where  they  had 
been  left :  they  had,  indeed,  but  little 
temptation  to  wander  from  it :  all  was 
new  to  them  ;  everything  near  seemed 
bright  and  cheerful,  and  they  gladly 
availed  themselves  of  the  permission 
they  had  received  to  enjoy  their  beau- 
ties. They  did  not  begin  by  cultivating 
the  ground,  but  gathered  plenteously 
of  the  flowers  that  already  grew  there ; 
many  of  the  most  beautiful  withered  at 
their  touch,  and  there  were  thorns  con- 
cealed in  others,  which  tore  their  hands  ; 
but  so  light  and  joyous  were  the  hearts 
of  the  children,  that  each  little  pain  and 
disappointment  was  no  sooner  felt  than 
it  was  forgotten.     Sometimes  they  would 


2(J  THE   DISTANT   HILI.S. 

weave  sweet  garlands,  and  playfully  en- 
twine them  in  their  hair  ;  sometimes,  in 
the  buoyancy-of  their  spirits,  they  would 
chase  one  another  along  the  green  turf; 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


27 


L0Si.VO. 


and,  when  they  were  weary,  they  would 
sit  side  by  side  under  a  myrtle,  and 
listen  to  the  warbling  of  the  birds  that 
fluttered  among  the  branches. 

During   these   periods,    Minna  would 


often  contrast  the  sad  and  gloomy  forest 
with  the  pleasant  spot  on  which  she 
was  now  permitted  to  dwx41  ;  and, 
whije  she  meditated  with  gratitude  on 
the  stranger's  kind  promises,  she  would 
wonder  how  many  hours  might  elapse 
before  he  came  back  for  her  again. 
Then  she  would  softly  whisper  her 
thoughts  to  Rhoda,  and  remind  her 
that  their  day  might  be  short,  and  that 
they  must  practise  continually  on  their 
flutes,  in  order  that,  on  the  morrow, 
their  ears  and  voices  might  be  in  har- 
mony with  those  of  the  happy  family 
who  already  dwelt  upon  the  distant 
hills.  Rhoda  never  refused  to  accom^ 
pany  her  sister  ;  but  she  seemed  to 
raise  her  eyes  more  languidly  towards 
the  east,  and  to  listen  less  gladly  than 


i        i 


28 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


Minna    to    the    answering    melody    that 
came    from   thence;     nay,    there    were 
times    at    which    it    appeared    doubtful 
whether  she  heard  it  at  all :   her  atten-  * 
tion  was  drawn  away  by  the   rustling 
of  the  leaves,  and  the  chirping  of  the 
birds  ;  and  the  reason  of  this  must  have 
been,  that  even  while  her  flute  was  at 
her  lips,  her  heart  was  not  meditating 
on  the  kind  stranger's  return. 

There  was,  in  truth,  at  this  time,  a 
very  great  difference  between  the  two 
sisters,  though  their  pleasures  and  oc- 
cupations seemed  to  be  the  same.  The 
mind  of  Minna  was  evidently  fixed  on 
her  future  home  ;  she  could  not,  indeed, 
pass  her  whole  time  in  playing  upon 
her  flute,  but  she  felt  that  the  minutes 
given  to  amusement  were  in  some  sort 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


29 


dangerous,  and  was  very  careful  lest 
her  affections  might  be  carried  away 
by  the  pleasures  which  she  was  allowed 
to  enjoy.  Thus,  she  would  often  stop 
in  the  midst  of  her  play,  and  raise  her 
eyes,  to  be  quite  sure  she  was  still  in 
sight  of  the  distant  hills ;  when  the 
flowers  were  sweetest,  she  would  hold 
them  up  on  high,  and  try  to  increase 
their  fragrance  by  the  perfumes  wafted 
from  the  mountain  breeze ;  and  when 
the  birds  were  singing  most  merrily 
around  her,  she  would  breathe  gently 
on  her  flute,  lest  her  ear  might  be  too 
long  captivated  with  the  gladness  of 
their  song.  But  it  was  not  thus  with 
Rhoda  :  during  the  time  passed  in 
amusement  the  distant  hills  were  for- 
gotten ;    and    she   would    probably,    in 


30 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


her  eagerness,  have  more  than  once 
lost  sight  of  them  altogether,  if  Minna 
had  not  warned  her  of  her  danger. 
Her  eyes,  too,  were  continually  wan- 
dering towards  the  forbidden  wall ;  its 
outline  was  gradually  becoming  less 
and  less  indistinct  ;  and,  if  truth  be 
told,  it  no  longer  appeared  to  her  so 
destitute  of  attraction  as  in  the  first 
instance  she  had  declared  it  to  be. 

Meanwhile  the  hours  glided  by ;  there 
was  no  sudden  change  ;  but  the  sun 
continued  quietly  on  its  course  till  the 
fresh  breeze  of  the  morning  had  given 
way  to  a  bright  and  burning  heat.  The 
children  knew  not  why,  but  they  felt 
that  they  themselves  were  affected  by 
the  progress  of  the  day.  Their  former 
joy  and  excitement  were  succeeded  by 


THE  DISTANT  HILLS. 


31 


feelings  of  restlessness  and  disappoint- 
ment. The  spot  on  which  they  stood 
seemed  to  them  to  have  lost  much  of 
its  cheerfulness  and  beauty,  and  they 
could  no  longer  take  delight  in  the  same 
simple  pleasures  as  before.  Hitherto 
they  had  gone  on  in  happy  thoughtless- 
ness, twining  garland  after  garland  ;  but 
they  now  observed  that  the  fairest  and 
sweetest  flowers  were  always  the  first 
to  fade,  and  so  they  gathered  them  no 
more.  Their  former  games  had  lost 
their  interest,  nay,  the  air  itself  was  too 
hot  and  oppressive  to  suffer  them  to 
play.  Their  very  listlessness  prevented 
either  sister  from  having  recourse  to  her 
flute,  the  music  of  which  would  at  once 
have  soothed  her  mind  ;  and  they  were 
far  too  dispirited   to   seek   employment 


Z2 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


33 


I'll 


in  the  cultivation  of  their  garden  :  they 
sat  idly  together  under  their  favourite 
tree,  while  each  gave  way  to  her  own 
sad  and  discontented  thoughts. 

Minna  looked  from  time  to  time,  not 
on  the  hills  themselves,  but  on  the  cloud 
that  rested  upon  them  :  there  it  remain- 
ed, quiet  and  beautiful  as  before.  The 
prospect  towards  the  east  had  in  no 
respect  altered  since  it  had  first  excited 
the  admiration  of  the  children.  But 
Minna  now  gazed  with  a  longing  desire 
to  behold  something  more ;  she  was  half 
disposed  to  murmur  that  the  glories  of 
the  summit  of  the  mountain  should  still 
be  concealed  from  her  view ;  and  as 
she  watched  the  cloud  with  this  feeUng, 
it  seemed  to  fall  lower,  and  to  grow 
darker  than  before. 


Rhoda,     with      yet     more     unquiet 
thoughts,   was   looking  wistfully  at    the 
wall.      Unlike  the  distant  hiUs,  it  had 
greatly    changed    in    appearance    since 
the  morning ;  for  the  whole  outline  had 
been   now  rendered    clear  and   distinct 
by  the  glare  of  the  noon-day  sun.      It 
was  a  long   irregular  pile  of  building, 
very  far  from  being  altogether  destitute 
of  beauty ;   and  though  parts  of  it  had 
been  much  impaired  by  time,  few  who 
looked  at  it  from  a  distance,  would  have 
discovered  the  dangerous  state  in  which 
it  wajs.      Here  and   there  were   broken 
towers,  and   buttresses,  but  the  ruined 
parts  of  them  were   concealed   by  the 
dark   leaf  of  the   ivy,   the   mouldering 
stones  were  covered  with  soft  and  deli- 
cate   mosses,    while,    from    the    chinks 


m 


THE  DISTANT  HILLS. 


and  crevices  of  the  wall  itself,  grew  a 
variety  of  red  and  yellow  flowers,  which 
dazzled  the  eye  by  the  gaudiness  of  their 
colours.  All  this  attracted  the  admira- 
tion of  Rhoda,  and  while  she  thus  gazed, 
she  forgot  that  the  whole  building  was 
a  ruin,  which  could  stand  only  a  single 
day,  and  that  on  the  morrow,  those  who 
were  found  near  it  would  be  crushed 
by  its  fall.  She  had  indeed  no  imme- 
diate intention  of  approaching  it,  but 
her  affections  were  already  there,  and 
some  momentary  impulse  alone  was  re- 
quired to  cause  her  to  follow  them. 

While  her  mind  was  in  this  state,  a 
bright  green  lizard  darted  suddenly  from 
a  chink  in  the  wall,  and  ran  along  its 
surface ;  for  an  instant  it  glittered  in 
the    sun,    and    then    lay   half-concealed 


I J 


THE    DISTANT   HILLS. 


35 


■beneath  the  leaves  of  the  ivy.     Rhoda 
sprang   up,   and    seizing    Minna  by  the 
hand,  exclaimed, — **  Look,    sister,   look 
at  that  bright  glittering  creature  !     Nay, 
but  it  is  hiding  itself  from  us  now ;  let 
us   go   a   little   nearer."      As   she   said 
this  she  began  to  draw  her  sister  down 
the  hill.     Minna  had  been  too  occupied 
by  her  own  thoughts  to  observe  Rhoda ; 
she   was   now   taken    by   surprise,    and 
allowed   herself  to   be   hurried    a   little 
way  towards  the  wall.      She  had  not, 
indeed,    seen    the   lizard,    but    she   was 
anxious    for    something    new,    and    her 
curiosity   was   excited    by   the   admira- 
tion of  Rhoda.      Before,   however,   she 
had    advanced    many  steps,   she  raised  • 
her  eyes,  as  in  walking  she  was  wont 
to  do,  towards  the  distant  hills.      Great 


C2 


36 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


THE    DISTAXT   HILLS. 


37 


was  her  alarm  when  she  found  that  the 
cloud  on  their  summit  was  all  that  was 
now  visible  ;  the  sides  of  the  mountains 
were  already  hidden  from  her,  by  her 
approach  to  the  wall.  "  Stay,  sister, 
stay,"  she  said,  "  indeed  we  must  go 
no  farther,  we  cannot  do  so  without 
losing  sight  of  our  happy  home."  Now, 
Rhoda  was  one  step  in  advance  of  her 
sister,  and  as  she  raised  her  eyes,  she 
found  that  not  even  the  cloud  itself  was 
visible  from  the  point  on  which  she 
stood  ;  yet  this  only  seemed  to  increase 
her  eagerness  to  get  close  to  the  walL" 
'*  A  few  steps  farther,"  she  urged,  **  will 
bring  us  to  the  very  spot,  at  which  the 
lizard  is  concealed  ;  we  need  only  look 
at  it  for  a  single  instant,  and  then  we 
can  return."     But  Minna  reph'ed,  **  Sup- 


posing in  that  single  instant  our  day 
were  to  close,  and  the  hour  of  darkness 
to  arrive,  how  very  terrible  it  would  be 
to  have  to  pass  the  long  night  under  the 
wall,  and  on  the  morrow  to  be  buried 
beneath  its  ruins." 

Still  Rhoda  was  not  satisfied.     "  Sis- 
ter,"  she   said,   "from   the   spot  where 
the  stranger  left   us  we  have  watched 
the  sun  rise  gradually  from   the  east  ; 
It   has   not   yet   reached   the   centre   of 
the  heavens  ;   no  mist  or  vapour  is;  near 
It,   and  we  can   see   nothing  to   impede 
its  course;    surely  then  it  is  most  un- 
likely  that   its    light    should   altogether 
disappear  during  the  little  while  we  are 
away."     «  But  why,"  answered  Minna, 
"why   should    we   needlessly   incur   so 
great  a  risk?      To  do  so,  were  to  ne- 


3S 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


gleet  the  warning  the  kind  stranger  has 
given  us,  of  the  uncertainty  of  our  day : 
and  even  if  many  hours  of  light  do  re- 
main, remember  what  he  told  us  of  thr 
difficulties  of  a  return.     We  do  not,  in- 
deed, know  what  they  are  ;  but  in  part 
I  can  already  understand  them.     Look 
behind    us,    and    you    will    see    that    it 
will  be  no  easy  task  to  climb  up  that 
portion  of  the  hill  down  which  we  have 
so  thoughtlessly  come.     Every  moment 
it    appears    to    grow    more    steep    and 
slippery  than  it  was  ;    besides,  there  i5 
something  oppressive  in  the  air  we  now 
breathe,  that  will  unfit  us  for  the  effort ; 
even  my  flute  seems  to  feel  its  dead- 
ening influence  ;    listen,  how  faint  and 
languid  is  its  sound." 

As  she  thus  spoke,  she  raised  the  in- 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


39 


strument  to  her  lips,  and  a  few  plaintive 
notes  proceeded  from  it ;  they  were 
in  truth  very  feeble,  but  they  found 
their  echo  among  the  eastern  moun- 
tains. Rhoda  heard  it,  and  her  heart 
was  moved.  The  heavenly  music  had 
more  effect  upon  her  than  even  the 
affectionate  entreaties  of  her  sister ;  the 
tears  rose  so  quickly  in  her  eyes,  that 
she  no  longer  saw  the  dangerous  wall ; 
the  temptation  for  the  time  passed  away, 
and  turning  round,  she,  together  with 
Minna,  struggled  resolutely  up  the  steep 
ascent  until  they  came  to  the  spot  at 
which  in  the  mornmg  they  had  been 
left. 

The  sisters  stood  for  a  moment 
breathless  with  the  haste  they  had 
made,    but    the    mountain    breeze    soon 


!; 


I'^i 


40 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


refreshed  them,  and  then  they  raised 
their  eyes,  and  gazed  fondly  on  the 
lovely  prospect  that  was  again  open 
to  their  view.  They  did  not  forget  to 
play  upon  their  flutes  a  song  of  thanks- 
giving ;  and  as  the  grateful  strains 
were  echoed  among  the  distant  hills, 
the  cloud  that  rested  upon  them  grew 
brighter  and  brighter,  and  there  was 
a  strain  of  gladness  in  the  answering 
melody,  as  though  the  happy  family 
that  dwelt  there  were  rejoicing  at  their 
return. 


CHAPTER  II. 

6i.si.ers  in  blood  and  liurlure  too 
Aliens  in  heart  ■will  often  prove  ; 

One  lose,  the  other  keep  Heaven's  clue  ; 
One  dwell  in  wrath,  and  one  in  love 

T  was  only  for 
'^^  a  little  while 
that  the  two 
sisters  shared 
the  same  feel- 
ings of  thank- 
fulness and  J03": 
no  sooner  had 
the  first  excitement  passed  away,  than 
Rhoda  grew  weary  of  watching  the 
distant    hills,   and   suffered   her  e3'es  to 


49 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


43 


wander  back  in  the  direction  of  the 
wall.  Her  having  once  approached  it, 
only  increased  the  temptation  to  return ; 
for  there  were  many  other  objects  be- 
sides the  bright  lizard  which  she  had 
now  half  seen,  but  which  she  was  un- 
able to  distinguish  from  the  spot  where 
the  stranger  had  left  her.  The  more 
she  pictured  them  to  herself,  the  more 
beautiful  she  fancied  they  must  be ; 
and  she  half  regretted  that  she  had  not 
gone  on  to  examine  them  when  she  was 
already  so  far  on  her  way.  She  said 
within  herself,  *'  Oh,  that  I  had  satisfied 
my  curiosity  once  for  all,  and  then  I 
could  have  left  the  building  without  a 
wish  to  return  to  it  again !"  These 
thoughts  would,  doubtless,  of  themselves 
have  gradually  led  her  on  to  fresh  wan- 


derings, and  they  proved  but  an  ill 
preparation  for  the  trial  that  was  near 
at  hand. 

Hitherto  the  children  had  enjoyed 
so  uninterrupted  a  sunshine,  that  they 
had  almost  forgotten  to  be  thankful  for 
so  great  a  blessing  :  they  looked  upon 
it  as  their  own,  and  it  did  not  occur 
to  them  that  in  a  few  minutes  it  might 
pass  away.  But  towards  the  after- 
noon a  great  change  took  place  in  the 
appearance  of  the  day.  A  cold  wind 
arose  from  the  east,  and  there  were 
dark  watery  clouds  sweeping  across  the 
sky.  Minna  was  the  first  to  observe 
them.  *.*  Look,  sister,"  she  said,  "  how 
gloomy  and  threatening  all  around  us 
has  become ;  every  instant  the  dark- 
ness  seems   to  increase.      I   remember 


44 


THE   DISTANT    MILLS. 


i 


the  kind  stranger  warned  us  that)  as 
the  day  advanced,  the  sunshine  might 
be  followed  bv  a  storm.  Let  us  then 
prepare  ourselves  to  endure  it.  Already 
I  can  feel  the  first  h(»avy  drops  of  rnin, 
the  sign  of  its  approach."  She  had 
scarcely  finished  speaking  when  a  vivid 
flash  of  lightning  shot  through  the  air. 
It  was  followed  by  a  loud  and  angry 
peal  of  thunder  ;  and  then  the  tempest 
began  in  all  its  fury.  The  rain  poured 
down  in  torrents  ;  at  the  same  time 
tlie  wind  increased,  and  the  spot  on 
which  the  children  stood  seemed  more 
than  any  other  exposed  to  its  violence. 
Some  trees  were  torn  up  by  the  roots, 
while  large  branches  from  others  were 
broken  off  and  carried  away  by  tlie 
storm. 


THE    DISTANT   HILLS. 


45 


The  two  sisters  stood  for  a  moment 
in  silent  terror,  and  then  Minna  looked 
timidly  aroun.d  for  a  place  of  shelter  ; 
but  Rhoda  exclaimed,  "  The  rain  is 
slanting  from  the  east,  we  shall  escape 
it  under  the  shadow  of  the  wall ;  follow 
me  and  vou  will  be  safe."  Without 
waiting  for  a  reply  she  rushed  hastily 
down  the  hill  and  took  refuge  under 
the  ruin.  Minna's  first  impulse  was 
to  follow  her  ;  but  in  an  instant  she 
recollected  the  danger,  and  called  out 
earnestly  and  loudly  on  her  sister  to 
return.  Rhoda  did  not  hear  her,  for 
the  voice  was  lost  in  the  noise  of  the 
wind.  Minna  then  began  to  play  u])on 
her  flute  ;  but  though  each  gentle  note, 
even  in  the  midst  of  the  tempest,  was 
echoed  back  from  the  distant  hills,  still 


(I 


I 


46 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


the  sound  did  not  reach  Rhoda  as  she 
stood  under  the  shadow  of  the  wall. 

At  length  Miiuia  was  obliged  to  aban- 
don the  attempt  to  recall  her  sister,  and 
began  once  more  to  look  for  some  spot 
in  which  she  might  safely  rest  until  the 
storm  was  over.     She  did  not  look  for 
it  in  vain.     While  she  had  been  playing 
on  her  flute,  a  large  cypress  had  been 
blown  down  by  the  wind.      The  trunk 
of  the  tree  was  now  supported  at  one 
end   by  the  upper  boughs,   and   at  the 
other  by  the  roots  which  had  been  torn 
out   of  the   ground.      These,   with   the 
earth   that   still  clung   to  them,  offered 
an   effectual    protection    from    the    rain. 
Minna  crept  beneath  the  thick  branches 
and  sat  down  under  the  fallen  tree ;  and 
as  she  sat  there  her  heart  was  ver\'  full 


THE   DISTANT   HILLb.  47 

of  heaviness  and   sorrow.      She  grieved 
because  the  bright  sunshine  of  the  day 
had    passed    and    given    place    to    cold 
piercing  winds  and  a  clouded  sky ;   she 
grieved  to  see  the  trees  that  she  loved 
stripped  of  their  branches,  and  the  green 
leaves  scattered  hither  and  thither,  and 
her  favourite  flowers  drooping  under  the 
violence  of  the  storm  ;   but  most  bitterly 
did    she   grieve   for   her    sister,   for   she 
loved    her   very   dearly,    and    she    now 
feared    that    she    never    might    behold 
her  again.      *'Alas!"    she  said,  'Uhese 
showers    may    perhaps    continue    until 
sleep    steals    upon   Rhoda   in    her   dan- 
gerous   lurking    place,    and    then    when 
the  new  morning  arrives  she  will  perish 
imder  the  ruin."      Yet,  in  the  midst  of 
her  sorrow,    Minna  could   find   comfort 


4S 


THE    DISTANT    HILLS. 


in  her  grateful  affection  for  her  kind 
protector,  and  in  gazing  stedfastly  on 
her  future  home.  The  sky  did  indeed 
look  black  and  lowering,  but  one  shining 
cloud  there  was,  which  was  only  ren- 
dered the  more  bright  and  beautiful  by 
the  surrounding  darkness,  and  the  child 
knew  that  it  was  the  cloud  that  rested 
on  the  distant  hills.  When  she  breathed 
upon  her  flute,  it  was  thence  that  the 
answering  melody  came  ;  the  sweet 
notes  were  borne  back  to  her  in  on 
instant  by  the  rushing  wind,  and  they 
sounded  no  less  clear  and  distinct  than 
they  had    done   in   the    stillness  of  the 


mornmg. 


But  let  us  leave  Minna,  and  return 
to  the  history  of  her  sister.  After  she 
had  run  down  the  hill,  she  had  no  difti- 


lii 


\. 


THE    DISTANT   HILLS. 


49 


culty  in  finding  the  shelter  she  sought. 
The  wall  was  sufficiently  high  to  afford 
a   complete   protection    from    the   rain  ; 
but,    alas,    at    the    same    time,    it    shut 
out   from   her  the  whole  of  the  eastern 
view.     It  was  with  a  feehng  of  soHtude, 
and  almost  of  terror,  that  she  crouched 
for  the  first  time  beneath  the  moulder- 
ing ruin.      She   forgot  all  the  beautiful 
objects   that   she    had    so   lately  longed 
to    see  ;    her   head    turned   giddy   with 
the  strong  scent  of  the  flowers,  and  the 
buzzing   of  insects,    and    other    strano-e 
murmurings   that   she   heard;    and   her 
heart  sickened  at  the  thought  that,  per- 
haps,   she    never    might    return    to   her 
sister  again.     More  than  once  she  half  ' 
resolved  to  begin  the  attempt,  but  the 
rain  seemed  to  descend  faster  than  ever, 


V 


50 


THE  DISTANT  HILLS. 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


51 


Jf 


and  Rhoda  had  not  courage  lo  face  the 
storm. 

She  still,  therefore,  lingered  on  until 
her    car    became    accustomed     to    the 
humming    sounds,    and    her    fears    and 
anxieties   began  to  subside.      She   soon 
learned    to  forget   the  innocent  joys  of 
the  morning,  and  the  distant  hills,  and 
the  heavenly  music  ;  her  thoughts  were 
confined  to  the   narrow   spot  on  which 
she  stood,  while,  at  the  same  time,  all 
that   the   stranger   had   told    her  of  its 
danger  was  scarce  remembered  at  all. 
She  now  looked   stealthily  around,  and 
began   to   examine   the  different   plants 
and    shrubs   that  grew  upon   the  wall. 
There  were  some  rich  crimson  mosses 
very    near,   and    they  were    so    unlike 
any   thing    she    had    before    seen,   thai 


they  immediately  attracted  her  attention. 
She  raised   her  hand   and  touched  one 
of  them,  and  when  it  felt  soft  and  deli- 
cate, she  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
to  gather  it ;   yet  she  trembled  exceed- 
ingly as    she  tried   to  separate  it  from 
the  mouldering  stone,  for  this  was  her 
first  attempt  to  take  any  thing  from  the 
ruin,  and  she  half  feared  that  it  might 
altogether  give  way  and  crush  her  by 
its  fall.     There  seemed,  however,  to  be 
no  immediate  danger;  the  moss  yielded 
at  once  to  her  slightest  effort,  and  Rhoda 
pressed  it  gently  to  her  cheek,  and  then 
concealed  it  in  her  bosom. 

After  this  she  gradually  became  bold- 
er, and,  leaving  the  place  in  which  she 
had  first  taken  refuge,  crept  along  the 
side  of  the  wall.     She  entered  into  every 


D3 


?!!i 

'* 


I 


52 


THE  DISTANT  HILLS. 


nook   and   corner,  and   gathered   abun- 
dantly of  the   strange  flowers   that  she 
found.      It  seemed   wonderful  that  she 
should  think  them  beautiful ;  for  neither 
the   rose,    nor   the  lily,    nor   the   gentle 
harebell,    nor   the    humble   violet,  were 
there  ;   but  rank  weeds,  and  poisonous 
herbs,  and  shrubs  that  loved  the  dark- 
ness, and  shrunk  from  the  cheerful  light 
of  day.     All  these,  by  some  strange  in- 
fatuation, now  proved  attractive  to  the 
unhappy  child  ;  but  one  purple  floweret 
there  was,  which  she  admired  more  than 
all  the  rest.     She  w^ove  it  into  a  chaplet, 
and  entwined  it  in  her  hair.     Alas,  she 
knew  not  that  it  was  the  deadly  nifrht- 
shade  ! 

Meanwhile  the  hours  glided  on  ;   and 
when  the   noon  had   some   time  passed 


THE    DISTANT   HILLS.  53 

the    wind    was    lulled    and    the    storm 
ceased.      Minna  left  her  place  of  shel- 
'  feer,  and  looked  anxiously  for  her  sister. 
It  was  some  little  while  before  she  was 
able  to  distinguish  her;  at  length,  how- 
ever, she  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  figure, 
half  hidden  among  the  leaves  of  the  ivy ; 
but  Rhoda  did   not  see  Minna,  for  her 
eyes  were  too  intently  fixed    upon  the 
wail.      Then    Minna   played    upon    her 
flute,  ill  the  hope  that  the  well-known 
sound    might    induce    the   wanderer    to 
return ;    but  though  there  was  stillness 
in  the  air  around,  Rhoda  heard  neither 
the  music  itself,  nor  its  echo  among  the 
mountains  ;  her  ear  was  no  longer  awake 
to  the  distant  melody— it  had  been  too 
much  deadened  by  the  low  and  confused 
murmurs  that  issued  from  the  ruin. 


T 


§4 


thp:  distant  hills. 


She  still,  indeed,  held  her  own  flute 
in  her  hand,  and  every  now  and  then 
would  raise  it  hurriedly  to  her  lips,  but 
she  cared    not  how  irregular  were  the 
notes  that  proceeded  from  it ;   and  she 
neither  sought  nor  expected  an  answer 
to  her  song.     Yet  we  must  not  suppose 
that    she    had    determined    to    continue 
where  she  was  during  the  rest  of  the 
day ;    for   there   were   times    at   which 
she   thought,   with    fear  and    trembhng, 
of  the  danger  of  falling  asleep  beneath 
the  wall.     But  she  fancied  the  hour  of 
slumber  was  still  very  far  off,  and  that 
she  might  safely  remain  until  the  dim 
twilight   warned    her   of   its    approach. 
Then,  she  said  within  herself,  she  would 
hasten    quickly   away,    and    gaze    once 
more  upon  the  distant  hills. 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


bb 


Even   the  re-appearance  of  the  sun, 
which    her   sister  fondly   fancied    might 
remind  her  to  come  back,  only  brought 
Nvith  it  a  fresh  temptation  to  hnger  near 
the    building.      Many   thousand    insects 
and  reptiles,  that  had  concealed  them- 
selves during  the  storm,  nov/  crept  forth 
from    their   lurking  places,   to   bask    in 
the  sunshine.     Rhoda  recognized  among 
them  the  bright  green  lizard.     It  stood 
still  upon  a  projecting  stone,  and,  turn- 
ing round,  fixed  its  sparkling  eyes  upon 
the  child.      She  thought  it  would  prove 
an  easy  prize,  and   advanced  gently  to 
take  it  in  her  hand;    but,  as   she  was 
approaching,  the  subtle  creature  gHded 
along  the  surface  of  the  wall,  and  a^rain 
paused,  and  stood  ghttering  in  the  light, 
at   a  little   distance  from    her.      Rhoda 


% 


* 


56 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


THE    DISTANT   HILLS. 


57 


!l 


followed  it,  and,  springing  suddenly 
forward,  imagined  this  time  that  the 
lizard  could  not  possibly  escape  her ; 
but  in  an  instant  it  had  darted  away, 
and  was  concealed  behind  the  ivy.  A 
slight  rustling  in  the  neighbouring  leaves 
betrayed  the  hiding  place  to  Rhoda. 
She  crept  onward  to  the  spot,  and  look- 
ing cautiously  among  the  branches,  was 
just  able  to  distinguish  the  object  of  her 
search.  **  Ah,  silly  creature,"  thought 
she,  "  you  flatter  yourself  you  have 
escaped  me,  but  I  have  caught  you 
at  last."  At  the  same  moment  she 
closed  her  hands  upon  the  iv}'-,  and 
doubled  over  the  leaf  that  covered  the 
lizard.  She  then  tore  it  from  the  stem,' 
and  fancied  that  her  wished-for  prize 
was  there.     But  she  found  that  it  was 


but  an  empty  leaf  which  she  held  ;  the 
hzard  was  again  clinging  to  the  w^alL 
a  little  in  advance  of  her,  and  looking 
bri2:ht  and  beautiful  as  ever. 


In  this  w^ay  it  gradually  tempted  the 
child  on,  ahvays  waiting  for  her,  and 
always  just  eluding  hor  grasp,  until  it 
had  brought  her  to  the  fragment  of  an 
old  tower,  more  dark  and  ruinous  than 


58 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


59 


any  thing  she  had  yet  seen.    But  Rhoda 
was  too  eager  in  her  pursuit  to  observe 
its  State  of  decay ;  nay,  at  the  entrance 
she  threw  away  the  flute,  which  hitherto 
she  had  retained  in  her  hand,  because 
she  fancied  it  had  more  than  once  pre- 
vented her  seizing  the  hzard.     She  went 
into  the  tower,  and  saw  the  bright  eyes 
again  looking  at  her,  from  a  projecting 
s^one    beyond    her    reach.      Without    a 
moment's  hesitation,  she  began  to.  chmb 
the    wall.      When   she    had   reached   a 
sufficient    height,    she    clung    with    one 
hand   to   the  ruin,  while  she   stretched 
out  the  other  to  take  the  lizard.      This 
time  it  made  no  effort  to  escape,   and 
the  delighted  child  took  it,  and  placed 
it  on  the  soft  moss  in  her  bosom  ;    but 
no  sooner  had  she  done  this  than  part 


of  the  building  gave  way ;  her  feet  and 
hands  shpped,  and  she  fell  down,  and 
the  stone  on  which  the  lizard  had  been 
came  roUing  upon  her.  The  unhappy 
child  was  crushed  and  bruised  beneath 
its  weight,  and,  as  she  attempted  to 
rise,  she  found  that  her  ancle  had  been 
sprained  violently  by  her  fall.  She  had 
just  sufficient  strength  to  crawl  a  few 
paces  from  the  tower,  and  then,  faint 
and  dizzy  with  the  intensity  of  the  pain, 
she  again  sunk  upon  the  ground. 

She  remained  there  senseless  for  a 
little  while.  Alas  !  she  was  still  under 
the  shadow  of  the  wall ;  and  as  the 
evening  was  stealing  on,  it  seemed  all 
hope  of  her  escape  from  it  was  at  an 
end.  But  suddenly  she  was  aroused 
from  her  stupor  by  the  noise  of  distant 


^ill 


I  ■ 


i  t 
■  ! 

II 

*  i 

il 


\   ji 


60 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


music.  It  came  from  the  mountains  in 
the  far  east,  yet  was  unlike  those  gentle 
notes  to  which,  in  her  bright  and  happy 
morning  Rhoda  had  loved  to  Usten ; 
there  was  now  the  shrill  blast  of  the 
trumpet,  and  the  beat  of  the  drum,  and 
other  sounds  of  war  ;  they  seemed  to 
approach  nearer  and  nearer,  and  to  grow 
more  terribly  loud,  while  they  rolled  like 
thunder  through  the  hollow  places  of  the 
wall,  until  the  large  stones  tottered  as 
though  its  foundations  were  giving  way. 
The  child  awoke  in  an  agony  of  alarm. 
She  imagined  the  night  must  have  al- 
ready passed,  and  that  the  new  morning 
had  arrived,  and  she  expected  every  in- 
stant to  be  overwhelmed  by  the  ruin. 
She  attempted  to  rise,  and  in  the  strug- 
gle her  hand   rested  on  something  that 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


61 


was  lying  near  her  ;  it  proved  to  be 
the  flute,  which  she  had  thrown  down 
as  she  entered  the  tower.  She  took  it 
with  fear  and  trembling,  and  raised  it 
to  her  hps,  with  an  anxious  wish  that 
her  kind  protector  might  now  listen  to 
her  song  ;  and  though  her  own  ear 
was  all  too  dull  to  catch  the  feeble 
sound  that  proceeded  from  it,  it  was 
heard  and  welcomed  among  the  dis- 
tant hills. 

It  seemed  as  though  Minna  must 
have  heard  it  also,  for  she  played  one 
joyous  strain  upon  her  flute,  and  then 
began  to  hasten  to  the  assistance  of 
Rhoda.  She  paused,  however,  after 
she  had  advanced  a  few  steps  ;  for 
much  as  she  loved  her  sister,  she  was 
afraid  to  venture  in  the  neighbourhood 


,1 


HSI 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


of  the  wall ;  but  as  she  raised  her  eyes 
towards  the  east,  a  new  and  glorious 
vision  was  open  to  her  view.  The 
beautiful  mountains,  and  the  cloud  that 
rested  on  their  summit,  were  reflect(^d 
from  above  in  the  clear  blue  sky,  so 
that  the  ruin  could  no  longer  conceal 
them,  and,  still  gazing  stedfastly  on  her 
future  home,  she  proceeded  downward 
on  her  task  of  love. 

When  she  reached  her  sister,  after 
tenderly  embracing  her,  she  tore  awnv 
from  her  garments  all  the  strange  shru])< 
find  flowers  that  had  been  gathered 
from  the  wall.  To  Minna  their  smell 
was  like  that  of  the  deadliest  poisons, 
and  such  in  truth  they  were.  Rhoda 
breathed  more  freely  when  they  were 
gone  :  happily  she  had  already  lost  her 


THE    DISTANT   HILLS. 


03 


wreath  of  nightshade  in  her  fall  from 
the  tower.  By  the  aid  of  lier  sister 
she  was  now  able  to  rise,  and  while 
her  ears  yet  tingled  with  the  noise  of 
the  drums  and  trumpets,  she  slowly 
and  painfully  began  her  return.  It  w.-is 
indeed  a  work  of  the  greatest  difficulty 
and  labour ;  her  limbs  had  been  crushed 
and  bruised  under  the  weight  of  the 
stone,  and  she  suffered  the  most  acute 
agony  from  the  sprain  in  her  ancle. 
More  than  once  she  was  tempted  to 
stand  still,  or  to  throw  herself  despair- 
ingly upon  the  ground.  But  the  ascent 
was  so  steep  and  slippery,  that  she 
felt,  if  she  once  ceased  moving  forward, 
she  must  shde  back  again  to  the  ruin; 
and,  while  she  recollected  its  danger- 
ous  state,    the   very  pain   she   endured 


^4 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


caused   her   to  struggle   the   more   ear- 
nestly to  escape  from  it. 

Minna  would  fain  have  carried  her 
in  her  arms,  as  the  kind  stranger  had 
done  when  he  found  them  both  perish- 
ing in  the  wood  ;  but  her  own  strength 
was  far  too  feeble  for  so  great  an  effort ; 
she  was  only  able  now  and  then  to 
assist  and  guide  her  steps,  and  ever  to 
soothe  and  cheer  her  by  the  soft  music 
of  her  flute.  She  tried,  too,  to  point 
out  to  her  the  glorious  vision  in  the 
eastern  sky  ;  but  Rhoda  sought  for  it 
in  vain.  To  her  eyes  all  above  looked 
dark  and  gloomy — there  was  no  reflec- 
tion either  of  the  beautiful  hills,  or  the 
bright  cloud  ;  still,  however,  she  per- 
severed in  the  painful  ascent,  until  the 
outline  of  the  hills  themselves  appeared 


THE    DISTANT    HILLS. 


65 


above  the  summit  of  the  wall.  Here 
her  apprehensions  began  to  subside ; 
she  looked  round,  and  imagined  that  if 
the  building  were  to  give  way,  none 
of  the  falling  stones  could  reach  her, 
on  the  point  where  she  stood  ;  so  she 
told  her  sister  that  she  would  wait 
there  a  little  while  until  the  pain  in 
her  ancle  should  cease.  It  was  in 
vain  that  Minna  entreated  her  to  go 
on  a  few  steps  farther,  that  so  they 
might  rest  on  the  very  spot  where  the 
stranger  had  placed  them.  She  re- 
plied that  she  was  faint  and  weary, 
and  that  there  could  be  no  danger 
while  they  saw  any  part  of  the  eastern 
mountains.  So  she  sate  down  under 
the  shade  of  a  tree  ;  and  as  she  sate 
down,  the  wall   again   became  a  suffi- 


B 


J 


W9' 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


G7 


cicnt  bcirrier  to  hide  the  mountains  from 
her  view. 

Minna,  when  she  found  her  entreaties 
of  no  avail,  stood  affectionately  by  the 
side  of  her  sister,  waiting  till  she  had 
recovered  strength  to  resume  her  jour- 
ney.     The    tears    rose   quickly   to    her 
eyes,  as  she  now  had  time  to  observe 
the  change  in  Rhoda's  appearance  that 
her    wanderings    had    produced.       Not 
only   were    her    garments    soiled,    and 
her  hmbs  bruised,  and  her  hands  torn ; 
but   her   cheek    looked   wan    and   pale, 
and    she    seemed    altogether    in    a    far 
worse    state    than    when    the    stranger 
had    saved    her    from    the    wood,    and 
given  her  new  life  by  washing  her  in 
the    waters    of   the    refreshing    stream. 
Minna   remembered,  with    a    sigh,    that 


there  was  no  returnino:  to  tliose  clear 
waters  again ;  still,  however,  she  did 
not  despair  that  the  health  and  strength 
of  her  sister  might  be  restored ;  lor 
there  were  herbs  upon  the  distant  hills 
which  were  a  remed}^  for  every  disease 
and  sorrow,  and  Minna  fondly  hoped 
that  the  evening  breeze  would  waft 
their  fragrance  to  Rhoda,  and  so  soothe 
her  sufferings  and  assuage  her  pain, 
that  when  the  night  closed  upon  her, 
she  might  lie  down  in  peace  to  rest. 
Alas !  she  did  not  know  that  her  sister 
carried  that  in  her  bosom  which  would 
cause  those  refreshing  winds  to  blow 
upon  her  in  vain. 


E^ 


lii 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


69 


CHAPTER  III. 


Once  gain  tlie  mountain  top  and  thou  art  I'ree, 

Till  then  wh.o  rest  pvesuine.  who  turn  to  look  are  lost 


HE  pain  m 
Rhoda's  ancle 
bes^an  to  sub- 
side  alter  she 
had  remained 
a  few  minutes 
under  the  tree, 
still  she  made 
no  effort  to  resume  the  ascent  ;  she 
seemed  to  be  sitting  in  a  kind  of 
dreamv    state  ;    her   eves   were    turned 


vacantly  towards  the  dangerous  wall, 
while  every  now  and  then  her  hands 
moved  to  and  fro  over  her  garments,  as 
though  she  were  feeling  for  her  weeds 
and  poisonous  herbs,  and  wondering 
that  they  were  gone.  It  was  in  vain 
that  her  sister  gathered  for  her  a  nose- 
gay of  the  sweetest  flowers  that  grew 
around  ;  they  were  such  as  Rhoda 
once  had  loved  to  wear,  but  her  sight 
and  smell  had  been  so  affected  b}'^  the 
noxious  plants  that  grew  upon  the  ruin, 
that  they  were  lost  upon  her  now.  She 
thrust  them  fretfully  aside,  and  said, 
with  truth,  that  she  could  not  discover 
in  them  either  fragrance  or  beauty. 

Still  Minna  would  not  forsake  her 
sister,  and  at  length,  by  her  earnest 
entreaties,   she   persuaded    her   to  rise ; 


rr 


m 


'.I 


70 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


Rhoda  even  then  appeared   to  hesitate 
whether    to    recede    or    advance,    but 
Minna    led    her    gently    a    few    steps 
further   up   the  slope,    until   they  stood 
on   a   spot   where    the   wall    no   longer 
deadened  the  force  of  the  eastern  wind, 
and  the  whole  outline  of  the  beautiful 
mountains   could   clearly   be   discerned. 
Here  the  children  again  paused  :    Min- 
na's heart  beat  high  with  a  mingled  feel- 
ing of  anxiety  and  joy  ;    she  could  not 
help  herself  rejoicing  once  more  in  the 
glor}^  of  the  view,  but  when  she  turned 
for  sympathy  to   her   sister,   she    found 
no  flush  of  pleasure  on  her  face  ;    she 
had  merely  raised  her  eyes  for  a  single 
instant  towards  the  east,  and  had  then 
loolted  down  and  fixed  them  stedfastly 
on  the  wall. 


71 


Minna  could  hardly  suppress  her  tears 
of  disappointment,  but  she  made  one 
more  attempt  to  move  the  heart  of 
Rhoda  ;  she  breathed  upon  her  flute, 
and  proposed  that  they  should  unite  in 
one  of  those  thankful  songs,  which  thev 
baa  often  played  together  during  their 
bright  and  happy  morning.  Rhoda 
raised  her  flute  to  her  lips,  but  the 
notes  that  proceeded  from  it  were  very 
harsh  and  full  of  discord,  when  com- 
pared with  the  sweet  music  of  her 
sister,  and  they  found  no  echo  among 
the  distant  hills  ;  for  at  the  very  mo- 
ment that  she  sent  them  forth,  her 
eyes  were  still  fixed  downward  upon 
the  ruin.  She  soon,  therefore,  ffrew 
weary  of  playing,  and  began  to  retire 
slowly  towards   the   tree  she   had   left. 


iill 


72 


THE  DISTANT  HILLS. 


But  Minna  once  more  seized  her  hand, 
and  pressing  it  fondly  to  her  lips  en* 
treated  her  to  remain.  ''  Stay,  dearest 
sister,"  she  said,  "  do  not  venture  one 
step  backward  towards  the  forbidden 
wall ;  from  this  spot  you  may  behold 
the  beautiful  mountains ;  see  how  noble 
is  their  outline,  and  how  lovely  the  tints 
tliat  are  now  shed  upon  them  by  the 
western  sun  !  Only  gaze  on  them 
stedfastly,  and  our  kind  protector  who 
dwells  there  will  watch  you,  and  com- 
fort you  ;  he  will  soothe  you  with  the 
soft  voices  of  the  children  who  are 
around  him,  and  though  you  feel  sick 
and  weary,  he  will  restore  you  to  your 
health  and  strength.  The  very  breeze 
that  he  is  now  sending  us  is  full  of 
freshness   and    life  ;    do   not   suffer   the 


m 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


73 


wall  to  screen  you  from  it  again."  But 
Rhoda  replied,  "  Sister,  in  the  morning 
I  loved  with  you  to  gaze  on  the  distant 
hills,  but  I  can  now  perceive  no  beau- 
tiful variety  in  their  colouring  :  one 
dark  shadow  is  resting  upon  them  all, 
and  their  loveliness  is  gone.  In  the 
morning  the  music  sounded  to  me,  as 
to  you,  like  the  soft  voices  of  children ; 
but  now,  when  I  hear  it  at  all,  it  rings 
terribly  in  my  ears,  as  the  war-cry  of 
some  mighty  host,  and  I  tremble  while 
I  Hsten  to  it.  In  the  morning  I  rejoiced 
with  3^ou  in  the  freshness  of  the  eastern 
breeze,  but  now  alas  !  it  blows  so  cold 
and  cheerless  on  my  breast,  that  I  fain 
would  shelter  myself  from  it,  even  under 
the  shadow  of  the  wall." 

As    she    said    this    she    pressed    her 


m 
'I. 


74 


THE    DISTANT    HILLS. 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


76 


m 


garment    more    closely    to    her    bosom 
and    immediately   the    lizard,    that    she 
had   concealed   there,   came   forth    from 
its   lurking  place   and   looked   wistfully 
around.      Minna    uttered    a    scream   of 
surprise   and    terror.       '*  Oh    Rhoda  !" 
she  exclaimed,  *'  cast  that  reptile  from 
you,  remember  that  it  is  an  inhabitant 
of  the  wall ;   it  may  haply  be  the  cause 
that  the  winds  have  lost  their  freshen- 
ing   influence,    the    music    its    softness, 
and  the  mountains  their  beauty."      The 
lizard  was  startled  at  the  voice  of  Min- 
na,  and  gliding  quickly  to  the  ground 
ran   a  few   yards   down    the   hill,    and 
then   turned    roimd    and   looked    at   the 
children.      Rhoda  coloured  very  deeply 
as  she  replied,  ''  Nay,  Minna,  I  did  not 
feel   the   touch   of  the  Hzard,   and   had 


in  truth  forgotten  that  it  was  in  my 
bosom.  It  must  have  been  lying  be- 
tween my  garment  and  some  beautiful 
moss  that  I  gathered  from  the  wall." 
"  But  why,"  answered  Minna,  "  should 
you  thus  cherish  a  moss  that  once  grew 
upon  the  ruin  ?  we  cannot  tell  what 
subtle  poison  it  may  contain.  Oh,  sis- 
ter !  even  if  it  cling  to  you  so  closely 
that  you  must  rend  your  garment  in 
order  to  take  it  away,  still  pluck  it 
out,  and  throw  it  from  you,  and  open 
your  bosom  to  the  mountain  breeze." 

Rhoda  hesitated  ;  she  still  loved 
Minna,  and  could  scarcely  help  yield- 
ing to  her  affectionate  request ;  alas  ! 
in  the  moment  of  doubt,  she  did  not 
raise  her  eyes  or  play  upon  her  flute, 
but    looked    listlessly    on    the    orround. 


76 


THE  DISTANT  HILLS. 


Hill 


'i 

t  .1 
1 1 


There,  once  more,  the  bright  lizard  met 
her  view  ;  it  had  remained  on  the  spot 
to  which  it  had  run  when  startled  by 
her  sister's  voice,  and  seemed  as  though 
it  longed  to  return  to  her,  but  was  afraid 
to  >'enture.  All  Rhoda's  better  thoughts 
passed  away  in  a  moment,  she  struggled 
to  withdraw  her  hand,  and  impatiently 
exclaimed,  "  You  know,  Minna,  that 
even  now  I  can  scarcely  bear  the  keen 
blasts  of  the  wind  ;  why,  then,  should 
I  part  with  my  warm  and  beautiful 
moss  ?  It  is  so  soft  and  pleasant  that 
I  am  sure  it  must  be  innocent — but 
let  us  speak  of  this  another  time.  That 
beautiful  lizard  is  waiting  for  me  to 
come  to  it,  and  if  it  be  but  to  bid' 
adieu  to  it  for  ever,  I  will  caress  it 
once  more."     It  was  in  vain  that  Minna 


•mnir' 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


77 


pointed  sorrowfully  to  the  west,  and 
reminded  her  how  much  of  the  day 
was  already  gone.  Rhoda  had  for- 
gotten the  long  chase  of  the  morning, 
and  the  thousand  arts  by  which  the 
deceitful  reptile  had  tempted  her  on; 
she  was  sure  that  she  could  overtake 
it  in  a  moment,  and  then  promised  to 
come  back  and  remain  by  the  side  of 
her  sister.  Doubtless,  she  intended  to 
do  so,  and  under  this  delusion  she 
went  away,  and  was  led  gradually  to 
the  ruin  ;  but  she  never  returned  from 
it  again. 

Minna  used  every  effort  to  detain 
her,  and  it  was  not  until  Rhoda,  in 
her  struggles  to  escape,  began  to  drag 
her  also  down  the  slope  that  she  was 
forced  to  release  her  hold.     She  raised 


78 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


1     I; 

:   i 


s 

ill 


m 


her  eyes  and  saw  that  the  image  of 
the  bright  cloud  and  distant  hills  had 
now  faded  from  the  sky ;  she  knew, 
therefore,  that  she  must  not  again  ap- 
proach the  ruin,  for  she  could  not  do 
so  without  losing  sight  of  her  promised 
home  ;  but,  with  a  heart  full  of  an- 
guish, and  the  tears  streaming  down 
her  cheeks,  she  watched  her  sister's 
receding  steps. 

Rhoda's  path  downward  proved  very 
smooth  and  easy ;  even  her  wounds  and 
bruises  were  forgotten  for  a  time,  and 
the  sprain  of  her  ancle  no  longer  im- 
peded her  walk  ;  the  green  lizard  kept 
enticing  her  on,  always  creeping  a  few 
steps  farther  as  she  stooped  to  take  it 
in  her  hand  ;  it  led  her  by  all  the 
steepest  parts  of  the  descent,  so  that, 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


79 


even  had  she  wished,  she  could  not 
have  stood  still ;  but  it  seemed  to  Minna 
that  she  did  not  once  pause  in  the 
pursuit  nor  cast  a  single  look  behind. 
In  a  few  minutes  she  had  traced  her 
to  the  wall ;  she  watched  her  hurrying 
along  its  side  until  Rhoda  again  entered 
the  ruined  tower  and  was  hidden  from 
her  view. 

She  then  turned  away  and  felt  very 
sorrowful ;  but  her  heart  would  have 
been  still  heavier  had  she  been  per- 
mitted to  know  the  remainder  of  her 
sister's  history.  It  is  in  truth  a  very 
painful  one.  The  green  lizard  did  not 
this  time  remain  in  the  ruined  tower, 
but,  passing  through  it,  still  glided 
along  the  side  of  the  building  to  other 
parts,  which  were  in  a  yet  more  dan- 


80 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


4     1l 


!  I 


i 


.L, 


gerous  state.  Rhoda  was  resolved  to 
follow  it  ;  her  path,  indeed,  was  no 
longer  smooth  and  easy,  as  it  had  been 
while  she  was  descending  the  hill;  but 
she  had  gone  so  far  that  she  would 
not  abandon  the  pursuit.  Alas !  half 
the  pains  that  she  now  bestowed  upon 
it,  might  have  enabled  her  to  get  back 
again  to  that  spot  on  which  alone  she 
could  be  safe.  Sometimes  she  had  to 
climb  over  loose  slippery  stones,  and 
at  others  to  crawl  on  her  hands  and 
knees  through  narrow  crevices  in  the 
wall ;  her  eyes  were  filled  with  dust 
and  dirt,  and  her  limbs  sorely  bruised 
by  fragments  of  the  building  that  kept 
rolling  upon  them.  She  very  often 
lost  her  footing  and  fell  heavily  upon 
the  ground,  but  no  sooner  did  she  rise 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


81 


again  than  she  still  struggled  on.  The 
unhappy  child  seemed  insensible  alike 
to  pain  and  danger,  until  faint,  breath- 
less, and  weary,  she  once  more  held 
the  beautiful  lizard  in  her  grasp. 

She  now  for  the  first  time  paused, 
and  the  feeling  of  joy  and  triumph, 
caused  by  her  success,  gave  way  in  a 
moment  to  a  sensation  of  alarm.  She 
had  come  she  knew  not  whither,  and  it 
seemed  hopeless  to  think  of  retracing 
her  steps.  Her  flute  was  gone  ;  she 
could  not  even  tell  where  she  had  left 
it,  but  only  had  an  indistinct  recollec- 
tion of  having  thrown  it  aside  after  one 
of  her  falls.  An  unusual  swarm  of  noisy 
insects  were  buzzing  around  her,  and 
the  shrubs  that  clung  to  the  side  of  the 
building  yielded  a  more  noxious  odour 


82 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


83 


ri 


even  than  those  which  she  had  gathered 
in  the  morning.  Yet  it  was  none  of 
these  things  that  first  gave  rise  to  her 
alarm  ;  but  it  was  the  terrible  darkness 
that  began  to  steal  upon  her.  When 
she  had  left  her  sister,  the  sun  had  far 
to  travel  before  it  sunk  to  rest ;  and, 
though  the  pursuit  had  occupied  her 
longer  than  she  was  aware  of,  the 
hour  of  twilight  had  not  yet  really 
arrived.  But  the  eminence  that  rose 
behind  the  wall  excluded  it  altogether 
from  the  western  light,  no  ray  of  the 
setting  sun  was  ever  reflected  upon 
it,  and  the  early  evening  was  so  dim 
and  cheerless,  that  Rhoda  imagined  the 
night  had  already  closed  in.  Still  not 
even  now  could  she  resolve  to  make  one 
vigorous  effort  to  escape;  she  struggled 


against  her  own  sad  fears,  and  thought 
she  would  yet  play  for  a  few  minutes 
with  her  favourite  lizard  before  she  be- 
gan to  return. 


^She  tried  to  be  calm  ;  but  her  limbs 
shook  and  her  heart  sunk  within  her,  as 
she  gradually  unclosed  her  hand  ;  the 
lizard  did  not  move  :  she  looked  at  it, 
but  the  green  skin  no  longer  glittered. 


Fa 


84 


THE  DISTANT   HILLS. 


THE    DISTANT   HILLS. 


85 


III 


and  the  brightness  of  its  eye  was  gone : 
she  touched  it,  and  it  felt  clammy  and 
cold — the  lizard  was  dead.  No  tears 
fell  from  Rhoda,  for  she  could  not 
weep  for  it.  Her  delight  in  its  former 
beauty  was  now  succeeded  by  a  feeling 
of  horror ;  she  turned  away  her  face 
and  said  within  herself,  "  Is  it,  then, 
for  this  perishable  object  that  I  have 
gone  through  so  many  dangers,  and 
abandoned  the  hope  of  my  promised 
home  ?" 

She  now  in  haste  began  to  climb  the 
hill  ;  but  the  ascent,  at  the  point  to 
whi^^h  she  had  come,  was  very  steep, 
and  covered  with  loose  rolling  stones  ; 
it  slanted  down  close  to  the  very  foot 
of  the  ruin  ;  there  was  no  intermedi- 
ate  space    between   them  ;    the   stones 


slipped  under  the  feet  of  Rhoda  every 
step  that  she  took  ;  fear  inspired  her 
with  a  momentary  strength,  but  all  her 
efforts  proved  fruitless  ;  sometimes  she 
advanced  a  little  way ;  but  no  sooner 
did  she  stop  to  breathe,  than  she  again 
slid  back,  so  that  after  much  labour 
and  weariness,  she  still  found  herself 
standing  beneath  the  dangerous  wall. 

We  cannot  wonder  that  it  was  so, 
for  she  did  not  pause  to  search  for  the 
flute  that  she  had  thrown  aside :  the 
distant  hills  and  their  soothing  music 
had  passed  away  altogether  from  her 
mind.  She  felt,  indeed,  the  extent  of 
her  danger,  and  longed  to  get  back  to 
the  pleasant  spot  on  which  she  had 
spent  the  morning  of  her  day,  but 
she    could    not    fix    her    affections    on 


86 


THE    DISTANT   HILLS. 


that  kind  protector  who  had  promised, 
if  she  called  out  for  his  aid,  to  assist 
her  to  return. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


Ever  tae  richest,  tenderest  glow. 
Seta  round  tne  Autumnal  eun — 

But  there  sight  fails  ;  no  heart  may  know 
The  "bliss  when  life  is  doce 

KILE  Rhoda 
was  struggling 
in  vain  to  as- 
cend the  hill, 
the  darkness 
gradually  in- 
creased, and 
^  she  grew  more 
and  more  alaimed.  She  cast  a  fearful 
glance  around,  and  feehng  the  full  mi- 
sery of  her  lonehness,  began  to  think, 


88 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


with    bitter    regret,    of    the    flute    that 
she  had  lost.      For  a  few  minutes  she 
groped  her  way  over  the  fallen  stones, 
and    sought    anxiously    for     it    among 
the  crevices  of  the  wall :  happy  would 
it  have  been  for  her  had  she  persevered 
in   the    search  ;    but   she   met   with   so 
many   unexpected    difficulties    that    she 
relinquished  it  in  despair.     Not  only  was 
there  so  thick  a  darkness  that  she  could 
hardly  see   her   path  ;    but   every  time 
that  she  stooped  down  to  feel  for  her 
flute,   the   swarm   of   insects    that    had 
hitherto  only  buzzed  around  her,  began 
to   worry   her    with    their    stings  ;    her 
eyes    were    so    swollen    that    she    was 
almost    blinded    with    pain,    while    the 
sharp   flint    stones    pierced    her    hands, 
and    more    than    one    serpent    crawled 


1i 


THE    DISTANT   HILLS. 


89 


from  its  lurking  place  and  bit  her  with 
its  poisoned  fang.  We  cannot  think  it 
strange  that  Rhoda  should  soon  have 
abandoned  so  painful  a  search,  when 
we  remember  that  in  the  afternoon, 
while  the  sun  yet  shone  brightly  upon 
her  and  she  was  cheered  by  her  sister's 
voice,  she  wanted  resolution  to  advance 
the  few  steps  which  might  then  have 
brought  her  to  a  place  of  security. 

She  now  crept  into  a  hollow  part  of 
the  ruin,  and  sitting  down  on  a  fallen 
stone,  resolved  to  await  quietly  the 
approach  of  night.  But  she  found  that 
in  quiet  she  could  not  await  it  ;  she 
whispered  peace  to  her  heart,  but  no 
l>eace  was  there  ;  thoughts  of  terror 
would  arise,  and  it  was  impossible  for 
her   to   drive   them   away.      It  was   in 


90 


THE    DISTANT   HILLS. 


vain  that  she  tried  to  believe  that  the 
spot  on  which  she  rested  was  free  from 
danger,  and  that  the  wall  would  afford 
her  a  sure   protection   during   the   long 
hours  of  the  night ;  the  huge  fragments 
that  continually  crumbled  away  mocked 
her    idle    hopes,    and     the    wind    that 
liowled    among    the   mouldering    stones 
seemed  to  echo  back  the  warning  which 
had  been  given  her,  that,  if  in  the  morn- 
ins:  she  were  found  beneath  them,  she 
would    be   crushed    to   pieces   by   their 
fall.       It   was    a    terrible    thing    to    sit 
helplessly  down  and  await  so  miserable 
a  fate.     Rhoda  felt  that  it  was  so,  and 
her  heart  was  full  of  bitterness;  neither 
could    she   find    any  joy  or  comfort   in 
the  present  hour  to  relieve  the  dreary 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


91 


prospect  of  the  future.  I  have  already 
said  that  the  cheerful  light  of  evening 
was  never  shed  upon  the  wall.  A 
thick  heavy  fog  now  rested  on  it,  and 
noxious  vapours  were  fast  rising  from 
the  ground.  All  was  cold  and  wretch- 
ed. The  rank  herbs,  at  the  approach 
of  night,  sent  forth  the  most  strong  and 
deadly  odours,  and  Rhoda  felt  that  she 
was  breathing  poison.  Meanwhile  the 
flowers  had  lost  their  gaudy  colouring, 
and  the  beauty  of  every  thing  that  had 
once  attracted  the  love  and  admiration 
of  the  child,  like  that  of  the  green  lizard, 
had  passed  away. 

Even  while  she  was  indulging  these 
sad  thoughts,  she  felt  something  move 
upon  her  bosom  ;    she  hastily  thrust  in 


92 


THE  DISTANT  HILLS. 


her  hand  and  found  that  the  soft  bright 
moss,  which  she  had  placed  there  in 
the  morning,  and  refused  to  pari  with 
at  the  request  of  Minna,  had  become* 
a  mass  of  rottenness  and  decay,  and 
that  shmy  worms  were  crawling  out  of 
it.  She  now  threw  it  from  her  with 
lontliing  and  disgust,  and,  springing 
from  her  seat,  made  one  more  effort 
to  escape  from  the  fatal  ruin.  But 
the  noxious  vapours  had  already  taken 
their  effect ;  she  staggered  to  and  fro, 
and  knew  not  whither  she  was  goinij ; 
for  a  few  moments  she  leaned  for  sup 
port  against  the  wall,  and  then  a  thick 
mist  obscured  her  sight,  and  she  sunk 
down  in  a  heavy  slumber  close  beneath 
the  ruin. 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


93 


It  is  a  pleasing  task  to  turn  our  eyes 
from   this   sad    picture,   and   gaze   upon 
the    soft    sunset   of   the   day  of   Minna. 
During   the    afternoon   her   employment 
had    been  to  sweep  away  the  withered 
leaves  from  the  ground,  and  to  prop  the 
broken  boughs  and  nurse  the  plants  that 
had    been  injured   by  the   storm.      She 
found   more   real  pleasure   in  this  quiet 
occupation,   than    she  had  done   in    the 
joyous  sports  of  the  morning.     It  was, 
too,    one   of  which    she   did    not   grow 
weary ;   no  listlessness  followed  it ;   the 
Howers  gradually  increased    in   beauty, 
as    though   to   thank   her   for   her  care, 
until    the   ground    assumed    the   appear- 
ance  of   a   garden,   and    the    child    felt 
more    and    more    grateful    to    the    kind 


92 


THE  DISTANT  HILLS. 


her  hand  and  found  that  the  soft  bright 
moss,  which  she  had  placed  there  in 
the  morning,  and  refused  to  part  with 
at  the  request  of  Minna,  had  become 
a  mass  of  rottenness  and  decay,  and 
that  shmy  worms  were  crawling  out  of 
itto  She  now  threw  it  from  her  with 
loatliing  and  disgust,  and,  springing 
from  her  seat,  made  one  more  effort 
to  escape  from  the  fatal  ruin.  But 
the  noxious  vapours  had  already  taken 
their  effect ;  she  staggered  to  and  fro, 
and  knew  not  whither  she  was  iroimr : 
for  a  few  moments  she  leaned  for  sup 
port  against  the  wall,  and  then  a  thick 
mist  obscured  her  sight,  and  she  sunk 
down  in  a  heavy  slumber  close  beneath 
the  ruin. 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


93 


It  is  a  pleasing  task  to  turn  our  eyes 
from    this   sad    picture,   and   gaze   upon 
the    soft   sunset   of  the   day  of   Minna. 
During    the    afternoon    her   employment 
had    been  to  sweep  away  the  withered 
leaves  from  the  ground,  and  to  prop  the 
broken  boughs  and  nurse  the  plants  that 
had    been  injured   by  the   storm.      She 
found   more  real  pleasure  in  this  quiet 
occupation,   than    she  had  done   in    the 
joyous  sports  of  the  morning.     It  was, 
too,    one   of  which    she   did    not   grow 
weary;   no  listlessness  followed  it;   the 
(lowers  gradually  increased   in   beauty, 
a^    thouf^h   to   thank   her   for   her  care, 
imtil   the  ground    assumed   the  appear- 
ance  of  a   garden,  and   the   child   felt 
more    and    more    grateful    to    the    kind 


1 


94 


THE  DISTANT  HILLS. 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


95 


protector  who  had  placed  her  in  so 
fair  a  spot,  to  wait  for  his  return.  She 
did  not  now  make  nosegays  of  the 
flowers,  or  weave  them  into  perishable 
garlands,  but  she  learned  to  watch  their 
silent  growth,  and  inhale  their  fragrance 
without  a  wish  to  gather  them.  Still 
there  were  times  when  some  favourite 
plant,  even  while  she  looked  at  it,  be- 
gan to  wither  and  die  ;  and  then  she 
would  raise  her  wistful  e^'es  towards 
the  distant  hills,  and  long  for  those 
brighter  flowers  which  blossomed  there 
but  could  not  fade. 

Minna  had  left  these  peaceful  occu- 
pations for  a  little  while  in  order  to 
assist  Rhoda  to  escape  from  the  wall. 
It  had  been  the  one  wish  of  her  heart 


that  the  sister  who  had  been  her  play- 
fellow   in    the    morning,    should    come 
back  and   pass  the  quiet  hours  of  the 
evening   with    herself      When   all    her 
hopes    were    disappointed,    and    she    a 
second   time   lost    sight   of  Rhoda,    she 
wept  bitterly  and  was  very  sorrowful. 
It  was  in  vain  that  she  returned  to  the 
garden  which    she   had   cultivated,    her 
favourite    flowers    failed    to    afford    her 
the  same  pleasure  as  before  ;   beautiful 
as   they  were,   there   was   now   a   void 
in  her  heart  that  their  loveliness  could 
not   satisfy.      But   Minna   knew   where 
to  turn  for  comfort ;  she  breathed  upon 
her  flute,  and  the  soft  and  solemn  mu- 
sic   that    floated    back    from    the    east, 
seemed    to    sympathise    with    her    own 


96 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


97 


sad  thoughts.  She  felt  that  she  was 
not  really  alone  ;  the  unseen  choir 
of  children  who  dwelt  afar  off  were 
sharers  in  her  sorrow  ;  one  chord  of 
affection  had  been  snapped  asunder, 
but  she  knew  that  those  which  uni- 
ted her  to  her  kind  protector  and  his 
happy   family   would    remain   unbroken 

for  ever. 

Such  thoughts  aftbrded  joy  and  peace 
to  Minna,  even  in  the  midst  of  her 
tears,  and  as  the  evening  closed  in  she 
dwelt  upon  them  more  and  more.  A 
soft  languor  began  to  steal  upon  her, 
and  now  she  gave  up  her  employment 
in  the  garden,  and  passed  her  time  in 
playing  glad  songs  upon  her  flute,  and 
watching  the  beauties  of  the  surround- 


ing view.  The  very  same  hours  that 
Rhoda  found  so  dark  and  terrible, 
breathed  upon  her  a  pure  and  holy 
calm.  There  were  no  damp  fogs,  no 
unhealthy  vapours  rising  from  the 
ground,  no  noxious  smells,  no  swarm 
of  insects  buzzinu:  in  the  air.  Brii^ht 
as  had  been  the  morning  of  the  day, 
the  evening  far  surpassed  it  in  its  quiet 
loveliness.  Minna  could  see  by  the 
western  light  the  clear  stream  that  she 
had  crossed  in  the  morning;  while  in 
the  distance  was  the  dim  outline  of  the 
forest  from  which  she  had  escaped. 
Her  heart  was  very  full  of  gratitude  ; 
one  short  day  had  passed  since  the  wild 
beasts  were  howling  around  her,  and 
now  that  a  new  night  was  approaching. 


THE    DISTANT    HILLS. 


THE    DISTANT   HILLS. 


99 


she  conld  lie  down  without  fear,  for 
her  kind  protector  had  promised  to 
watch  over  her  sleep.  But  it  was 
towards  the  east  that  the  eye  of  the 
child  was  more  frequently  turned. 
There  on  the  morrow  would  be  her 
dwelling  place.  The  beautiful  moun- 
tains, when  seen  bv  the  indistinct 
twilight,  appeared  to  be  brought  near- 
er than  before,  and  there  was  a  fringe 
of  gold  on  the  cloud  that  rested  upon 
them,  as  it  caught  the  last  rays  of  the 
setting  sun.  The  song  of  the  birds  was 
hushed,  and  no  sound  broke  the  stillness 
of  the  evening  but  the  gentle  notes  of 
Minna's  flute,  and  the  clear  soft  music 
that  was  wafteJ  back  to  her  from  the 
distant  hills. 

The   child   gradually   yielded   to    the 


soothing  influence  of  tlie  scene  ;  her 
languor  increased ;  she  sank  down  upon 
a  bed  of  violets,  and  having  raised  her- 
self  for    a    moment    to   gaze   earnestly 


upon   the  east,   she  closed  her  eyes  iu 
a  soft  untroubled  sleep. 

The  hours  of  night  passed  slowly  on, 
the  pale  moon  and  the  stars  appeared, 
and   Minna  still  continued  in  the  same 

G2 


100 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


quiet  repose.  No  new  trials  or  tempt- 
ations could  befal  her  ;  there  were  to 
be  no  more  changes  of  joy  and  sorrow  : 
she  had  been  weary,  but  she  was  now 
at  rest — and  so  refreshing  was  that  rest, 
that  all  signs  of  her  former  care  and 
anxiety  passed  away  ;  the  traces  of  the 
tears  that  she  had  shed  were  gone  ; 
and,  as  the  soft  moon-beams  played 
upon  her  face,  it  shone  with  a  bright 
and  holy  loveliness.  She  slept  quietly 
on,  but  it  was  not  the  heavy  sleep  of 
unconsciousness  and  oblivion  ;  a  warm 
breeze  from  the  mountains  fanned  her 
cheek,  and  the  songs  that  she  had  loved 
still  floated  in  the  air.  The  smile  of 
hope  yet  hngered  on  her  features  while 
they  were  hushed,  in  the  stillness  of 
sleep:    and    she    slept   as   one   who   so 


I 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


101 


rested  from  her  labours,  that  she  was 
ready  to  arise  at  the  first  appearance 
of  dawn  ;  who  enjoyed  the  tranquillity 
of  the  night,  but  was  dreaming  all  the 
while  of  the  life  and  gladness  of  the 
morning. 

And  Rhoda  also  slept,  but  her  slum- 
bers were  very  different  from  those 
of  Minna.  There  was  no  peaceful 
security,  no  refreshing  quietness,  in  her 
repose.  As  the  night  advanced,  her 
features  only  became  more  wan  and 
haggard  than  before,  as  though  the 
troubles  of  the  day,  and  the  fears  and 
anxieties  of  the  evening  had  formed 
themselves  into  dreams  and  visions 
which  disturbed  her  rest.  It  may  be 
that  she  still  fancied  she  was  strusfflinff 
to  escape  from  the  wall ;  but  she  could 


i 


ii 


(i 


102 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


now  only  weary  herself  with  the  imagi- 
nary efforts  of  a  dream.     She  remained 
powerless  on   the   ground,   and  all   her 
restlessness  could  not  move  her  one  step 
from  the  spot  on  which  she  had  sunk 
to   repose.      The  stranger   had  warned 
her  that  this  would  be  the  case :  in  the 
morning  he  had  brought  her  to  a  place 
of  security,  which,   in  the   folly  of  her 
heart,  she  had  wilfully  left ;    the  hours 
of   darkness   had    arrived,    and    it   was 
now  impossible  for  her  to  return.      She 
had  abandoned  the  prospect  of  the  dis- 
tant hills,  and  from  this  time  forth  she 
would  see  them  no  more  ;   she  had  re- 
fused to  listen   to  the  heavenly  music, 
and    she    would    never    be    allowed    to 
hear    it    again.       During    the    day-time 
she  had  taken  up  her  portion  with  the 


THE   DISTANT  HILLS. 


10'S 


fatal  ruin;  it  was  there  she  had  spent 
the  evening,  it  was  there  that  slumber 
had  overtaken  her,  and  she  was  now 
forced  to  sleep  beneath  it  until  it  should 
give  way  and  crush  her  by  its  fall. 


Minna  and  Rhoda  still  slumber,  for 
that  trumpet  has  not  yet  sounded  which 
alone  can  wake  them  from  their  repose. 
We  cannot  farther  pursue  their  history, 
but  we  must  think  of  them  as  sleeping 
at  this  very  moment,  the  one  within 
view  of  the  beautiful  mountains,  the 
other  under  the  dark  shadow  of  the 
wall.  The  building  has  become  verv 
old  and  ruinous,  but  it  is  still  per- 
mitted to  remain.  The  day  of  the 
children  passed   quickly   by;    but   their 


■;■!«-■    ijp^ai;  i.:- 


104 


THE   DISTANT   HILLS. 


long  night  may  not  even  now  be  draw- 
ing to  a  close  ;  no  one  can  number 
its  silent  hours,  or  tell  how  near  or 
how  distant  the  dawn  of  the  morrow 
may  be. 


^ 


COLUMB  A  UNIV 


ERSITY 


III 

0032251459 


7H 


A  3 


Adao^s. 


I 
I 


